


CONQUER- Aftermath

by DarkeAngelus



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon Gay Couple, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Episode: S05E16 - Conquer, Red Poncho Guy, Trust Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-03-29 18:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3906331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkeAngelus/pseuds/DarkeAngelus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Season Five finale left a lot of questions unanswered: What happened between Morgan and Rick AFTER Pete's shocking execution? How will certain Alexandrians react to Aaron's role in bringing Rick and his group to their sheltered community? Will Daryl go back to Del Arno for a second showdown with the Wolves? Here's an attempt to answer all of those cliffhangers while making it a story all of its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Comparing Notes

The young man with the automatic pistol sat across from Morgan and spoke in a voice that contradicted his filthy, half-wild appearance: “You know the first settlers here? They put bounties on wolf heads. Brought the natives into it. Made them hunt them. Didn’t take them too long to kill them all.” He gestured to the W carved into his forehead. “They’re back now.” 

“Everything gets a return,” Morgan said. 

The younger man appeared to absorb this, nodding to himself. “Some of the tribes around here, they thought that the first people were wolves transformed into men. And now... well, you know.” He waved the gun and broke out into a savage grin. “Like you said, everything gets a return.” 

Following that, the man’s companion burst out of the brush brandishing a knife.

 

* * *

 

Despite his appearance of outward calm, Morgan Jones was left deeply troubled by his encounter with the two men who called themselves Wolves. 

He had seen some disturbing things soon after he had crossed the state line to Virginia; _extremely_ disturbing things. So, it could be said that he had been prepared for the encounter this morning when the first man stepped out of the brush and interrupted his breakfast. He knew he had been watched the day before. Actually, he had expected whoever was tailing him to attack him as he slept in the abandoned car. Along with his makeshift bo staff, he also carried an M16 and that was probably the reason for the wait-and-see approach. Especially when he had dispatched them in short order and discovered the one gun in their possession hadn’t even had any ammunition. 

Still, the attitude of that first one... Cocky, arrogant, and yet so damned calm in his methodical approach to killing another human being that it meant it was something as strongly carved into him as the slashed scar tissue above his eyebrows. He was a true rabid wolf in spirit and behavior and the Morgan of old would have had absolutely no problem putting him down. 

This new man he was now had let them live. He couldn’t have killed them even if he’d tried. The fact that it never crossed his mind that by leaving them alive they would be free to hunt and kill someone else was an indication of his present single-minded embrace towards passivity. He was a person who went to extremes and, since the world changed ownership to the undead, he had undergone three radical transformations in the span of less than two years. Such hardships on the mind were bound to leave some damage. 

It was probably his encounter with the Wolves that made him wary about the sudden appearance of the man in the red poncho. He remembered a similar tale he had read to his son, Duane, when the child had still been in training pants (and alive). Keeping a safe distance, he tailed the man out of curiosity and that led him to the Del Arno canning factory. The man continued on his way past the tempting lure but Morgan didn’t take the bait, although it looked like someone else had. There were walker carcasses lying near the fence and the gate was pulled open. The kills looked recent. Far off where the transport trailers were located was a tightly knit horde of walkers. 

Morgan knew from experience that the foul creatures only behaved that way when they had just made a kill or were preparing for one. He carefully reconnoitered the area and found the walkers crowded around a compact car. The rotting bodies were packed together so tightly that it made it difficult to see what was attracting them. It looked like someone was trapped inside the car. Perhaps more than one person. That moved him to action. 

Removing a pair of bolt cutters from his backpack, he cut the heavy chain that was keeping this gate closed. The walkers were so engrossed with trying to get into the car that they never even registered his presence until he was forging a direct path through them; his staff breaking limbs and skulls as he ducked and battled his way to the passenger-side door. When he pulled it open, a man brandishing a machete leapt out of the vehicle followed by another armed with a crossbow and a hunting knife. As a trio they made their escape. It was almost as if they had rehearsed this rescue as they each instinctively covered the others’ back in their sprint to safety. 

The taller, younger of the two latched the gate closed before the pack could reach them.  His partner dispatched a walker with a bolt trough the forehead that had been advancing on Morgan’s blind-side. The immediate threat over, Morgan eyed them warily as he cleaned his staff waiting to see if he had saved friend or foe. 

The man in the blue coat staggered back from the fence and, for a split second, Morgan thought his legs were going to collapse out from under him. Trying to catch his breath, he turned and favored his rescuer with a broad grin. Even before he spoke, Morgan concluded that he was okay. “That was-that was-“ Words failed him for a moment before he managed to get out; “Thank you! I’m Aaron. This is Daryl.” 

“Morgan,” he offered out of politeness and went silent again. 

“Daryl” appeared about ten years older than his companion and a polar opposite in terms of appearance and attitude. He seemed to have already shrugged off the near-death experience with remarkable ease and was staring cautiously at Morgan through a curtain of greasy bangs. “Why?” he drawled. His voice was rough and gravely. 

“Why?” Morgan favored him with a small smile. “Because all life is precious, Daryl.” 

Still struggling with shock, Aaron babbled, “Whoever set that trap; they-they’re coming, but, uhm,  I have good news. We, ah, _we_ do. We have a-a community not too far from here. Walls. Electricity. Food. It’s safe. If-if you’d like to come join us-“ 

“No, thank you,” Morgan said. “I’m on my way somewhere. Fact is I’m lost. So, if you could tell me where we are…?” He handed the older man the battered map he had picked up from a deserted church in Georgia two months earlier. 

Daryl took it and immediately saw the hand writing plain as day: 

_"Sorry I was an asshole._

_Come to Washington._

_The New World's gonna_

_Need Rick Grimes."_ 

Although his face remained unreadable, Daryl was shocked to see Rick’s name. The circumstances made him think back to their time in the quarry and to the journey that led them to stay at Hershel’s farm. Hadn’t Rick made daily dawn excursions to talk to someone on a walkie-talkie? Daryl hadn’t been as close with the group back then, but remembered some discussions between Rick and Shane he had overheard. “You Morgan Jones?” 

Morgan didn’t have quite the poker face Daryl did. He looked genuinely stunned. “How.... how do you-“ 

“Ain’t you supposed t’ be batshit crazy?” Daryl interrupted. He was relieved to see Aaron come around enough to put a hand on his sidearm in response to the question. In truth, right up to their last discussion in the car, the hunter had still been on the fence about the Alexandrian scout. Maybe it was because of his gentle disposition or the fact that he wasn’t as battle-hardened as his own group. There were a number of variables he still had to figure out, but Aaron had more than proven his worth today. In truth, he had gained something only a handful of people could boast: Daryl Dixon’s respect. 

“How do you know Rick? Where-” 

Daryl’s face betrayed nothing. “Answer my question first.” 

“I went to a... bad place for a while,” Morgan admitted. “My wife became a walker right after things went to pieces, but I just couldn’t put her down. She bit our boy-“ He put a knuckle to his mouth and bit down on it just as he tried to mentally bite down on the memories. “I hunkered down in Rick’s hometown. It was just me there for a-a long time. Me and the walkers. Rick showed up about a six months back with his son. A woman with a sword was with them. They left with a cache of guns I’d hoarded.” He matched eyes with Daryl. “Your turn.” 

“Rick’s livin at the town he was talkin about,” Daryl said, nodding at Aaron. 

“... And-and _his_ boy?” 

“He’s there, too.” 

“Praise the Lord,” Morgan whispered. Not so long ago, he probably would have harbored jealousy to hear that Rick’s family was still intact while his own had died. Now, he was simply relieved. He looked over at Aaron. “I hope that your offer wasn’t a one-time thing?” 

The younger man smiled easily. “Of course not. You’re more than welcome-“ 

“Just a sec,” Daryl said, clearing the distance and grabbing Aaron by the arm, dragging him a short distance away. 

The taller man submitted to the forceful treatment although the confusion was plain as day on his face. “What are you doing? That man just saved our lives! We’re not leaving him behind.” 

“Wasn’t gonna say we was,” the hunter grumbled, letting him go. “We jus need t’ be on the same page first.” He nodded over to where Morgan was standing, pretending that he wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. “That guy’s important t’ Rick. Saved his life after everything went to shit. Yer gonna be in the car with ‘im when we go back. I don’t wan’cha mouthin off. Y’know, about how Rick is.” 

It was no secret between them that Aaron didn’t have anywhere near the same high regard for the former Sheriff’s deputy that he had in Daryl and the other group members. And small wonder. “Don’t mention how he was prepared to kill me in cold blood, you mean?” 

Daryl at least had the good sense to look a little bothered at that. He honestly hadn’t known what had gone on in the barn after Michonne and a few of the others had left to see if Aaron had been telling the truth about his transportation. Daryl and the rest had gone off to scour their surroundings in case of an ambush leaving Rick and Aaron alone together for close to an hour. Once safely back in Alexandria, the recruiter had only told his boyfriend about what had happened. Furious, Eric had felt the need to pass that little nugget along. It was Maggie who had taken Daryl aside and told him about Rick’s approach to psychological torture. He had been upset to hear about it but, sadly, not all that surprised. “Yeah. _That_.” 

“He’s going to discover that Rick is a bit... _off_ when they reunite. Don’t you think he deserves a head’s up on what to expect?” 

“It ain’t yer call,” Daryl snapped a little more forcefully than he intended. “Ain’t mine neither. Jus... Look, let things play out when we get there. ‘Kay?” 

“All right,” Aaron said, adding a subtle nod. He made to head back to Morgan as his right hand went up to his shoulder in blind reflex. His eyes widened when he didn’t find the shoulder strap there and he whirled towards the fence. It was bowed out from the force of ravenous walkers trying to get at them. Fisting his hands in his short curly hair, he released a dismayed curse. “Shit!” 

It took a few seconds for Daryl to remember what had happened. “It’s gone, man. Nothin’ you can do.” 

“I’ve had that pack since Africa!” Aaron ranted. “It had my mike, my binoculars, my good luck charm, my-“ He glanced at his partner in sudden realization. “It had all of the pictures of Alexandria. I’d even added some new ones.” 

Daryl didn’t look as bothered by the loss. “Ya also had some food in there, too. Walkers shredded it all to pieces most like. Let it go.” 

Aaron cocked an eyebrow at him. “You know, the spare drawstring to your crossbow was in there, too.” 

 _“Aw shit!”_ The hunter cried and Aaron chuckled at that. He just couldn’t help it. 

“Is everything alright?” 

They glanced over to where Morgan was standing. He appeared genuinely concerned. It was Aaron who took the lead, reminding Daryl why they were such an effective team. Each made up for traits the other lacked. In this case, the younger scout’s affable presence seemed capable of soothing over tense situations and that was a skill few people possessed in this day and age. “I got mugged by a roamer. Can you believe it? That _has_ to be a first!” 

His smile was infectious and was one that Morgan hesitatingly returned. On the way back to where their vehicles were parked, Aaron launched into his patented Alexandrian Safe-Zone pitch while Daryl followed along behind listening to how easily the words flowed from the other man’s mouth. He would never be able to master that type of spiel if he lived a hundred years. 

While they traveled, Daryl cast one last resentful glance back at the canning factory while it was still in sight. It had been a close encounter. No where near on a level with Terminus, but still one hell of a reminder that he and his group hadn’t left all their threats behind in Georgia. There was a bad crew marking their territory in these woods and they were only fifty miles from the Safe-Zone. Maybe he should be as concerned as Aaron about those lost photos. It was certainly something he would have to talk to Rick and Carol about. He almost regretted having to do it because he knew information about a potential threat would be just the thing that would tip Rick over the razor’s edge of sanity he was currently walking on. If he decided to put his Take-Over plan into play, the people of Alexandria wouldn't even know what hit them until it was all over. 

That realization made Daryl look ahead at Aaron. If anyone in the peaceful, oblivious town deserved a head’s up about what was about to come, it was him and his boyfriend. They were just as much outsiders as he and his group. Hell, when he thought of the useless ones, like Father Gabriel and Eugene, he figured the gay couple had more than earned exclusive membership into their “family” unit. He sure as fuck didn’t want them caught in any kind of crossfire. Talking to Rick was difficult these days and even Carol had changed in a way that Daryl couldn’t quite puzzle out. He had already made them suspicious of his personal motives when he had refused to take one of the guns Carol had stolen out of the armory. 

A sudden thought struck him: What if they had been waiting for him to leave before making their move on the town? What if the take-over had already happened? He stumbled to a stop, blinking hard. 

“-as more survivors began coming in, the walls went up fast. We’ve been expanding the-“ Aaron glanced over his shoulder and the pride in his face about his community was immediately replaced with concern. “Daryl? What’s wrong?” 

The hunter looked up at him and got his legs moving, moving past them at a run. “Got a sudden bad feelin’. Let’s make tracks!” 

“We’d best follow,” Aaron told Morgan. “He won’t wait for us.” The pair had to jog after the other man to keep him in sight. When they were back in the woods, Aaron had to push ahead and grab onto Daryl’s sleeve, trying to slow him down. The hunter shrugged off the grip, turning to stare at him. “What?” 

“You may have eyes like a cat but night is falling fast and I can’t see in the dark. Neither can he.” Aaron cocked a thumb over his shoulder to Morgan who was gamely keeping up with the frenzied pace, but the strain clearly showed in his dark features. “What’s gotten into you?” 

Chewing the inside of his lip, Daryl wasn’t sure just how much of what he was feeling was paranoia or suspicion. He decided the best thing to do was come clean. “Rick n Carol... an me. We kinda had a half-assed plan worked out. Y’know, in case things in Alexandria went tits up,” he rumbled in a low voice, watching as Morgan began gaining ground to where they were standing. 

“You think Rick tried to pull a coup and take over the town while we were away?” 

Slanted eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you shittin me? Ya knew?” 

“I warned Deanna of the possibility.” 

“You did _what?!”_  

“I told you I couldn’t make the mistake of letting another Davidson into Alexandria,” the tall scout said, setting his jaw. “My listening didn’t just stop outside of the walls-” 

 _“Ya sneaky sonovabitch!”_ Daryl shouted at him. 

“This isn’t personal. Eric and I are the ones who have to pay for it when things go wrong with someone we bring back. We’re not talking about little notes left on the windshield of my car, Daryl. We’ve had rocks thrown through the damn windows of our house. Eric’s been roughed up. Hell, so have I. You’re protecting what’s yours. I get it.” He lowered his head and Daryl saw that look of deadly intent that Rick must have seen when he had denied Aaron access to Eric when he’d been injured. His husky voice dropped to a lower, more threatening, tone. “But I’m going to protect what’s _mine_.” 

The two stared at one another in tense silence. The stand-off was finally broken when the end of a bloody staff was waved between their faces. 

“Sorry to break this up, but you’re attracting attention,” Morgan said, looking off at the tree line where several walkers were shambling towards them. 

Daryl shot his partner a final dirty look and turned around. “C’mon.” He moved at a brisk pace but in no way did it match the reckless sprint of before. They left the undead behind as they maneuvered the thick undergrowth with deceptive ease. It was going on full dark by the time they crossed a ditch and were back up to where Daryl’s Frankenstein motorcycle and Aaron’s Monstrosity of a car were parked. 

The hunter secured his crossbow to the back of the seat and straddled the bike. He didn't say a word as he kick-starting it and turned on the single, shoddy headlight. Gunning the accelerator, he spun it around to back where they’d come, the studded hind tire kicking up dirt and leaves as he roared down the road. 

Aaron was a little more methodical as he got behind the wheel, allowing time for Morgan to unstrap his heavy pack and place it in the back. When he settled in the passenger seat beside the scout he looked bemused when Aaron fastened his seat belt. “You might want to buckle up,” the younger man said with thinly veiled amusement. He started the engine and found a spot down the road wide enough to turn around. “Daryl and his group seem to be a jinx on vehicles. I’ve already lost one car.” 

“You two are an... interesting pair,” Morgan commented when they were back on the road. Daryl was nowhere in sight but Aaron resolved it wouldn’t be for long. He pressed his foot down hard on the gas pedal, keeping the headlights on high beam and casting a wary eye to the tree line on either side for roving bands of walkers. As long as the stupid things weren’t standing out in the middle of the road, he figured he could get around them. 

“It’s a work in process,” he chose to say as his answer. “This was our first official run together. My usual partner broke his ankle during the scouting run that found Daryl and the rest of his group. That happened about two weeks ago.” 

“And was Rick with them?” 

“Rick’s their leader.” Of anything Aaron could say about the man, he certainly couldn’t dispute that. “Fourteen people in all. Largest group I’ve ever found. And that’s including his son and daughter.” 

Morgan’s head snapped around in shock. “Daughter?! He has a little girl?” 

“Her name’s Judith. She looks to be around a year old. I’m not really sure when it comes to kids.” 

“No family of your own?” 

“I’m gay. My previous scouting partner who got hurt is my boyfriend.” He glanced at Morgan and offered a one shouldered shrug. “Sorry if you’re shocked, but we’ve chosen to be open about it.” 

To his credit, the older man didn’t look upset in the slightest. His slight smile never wavered. “That doesn’t bother me. Any relationship that’s managed to survive this horror deserves to be bragged about.” 

Aaron’s smile turned a little sad. “That’s how we feel, too. Shame we’re the minority on that opinion. I actually had the naïve belief that after everything went to pieces the people who grouped together in a new society would abandon their old prejudices and, oh hell, I don’t know, grasp hands together and sing Kumbayah around a fire or something.” He gave his head a brisk shake. “That didn’t happen.” 

“No, it did not,” Morgan said softly. “People revert to their base nature in a crisis. I was in that state for... quite a while.” 

“If I could ask; what pulled you out of it?” 

His lips pulled up into a faint smile. “Not what. _Who._ A wonderful person came into my life and brought me back.” 

Aaron nodded slowly to himself. “Is that the same person who showed you how to become a Ninja Turtle with a stick?” 

Morgan whipped his head around to look at him in astonishment and then, unexpectantly, burst into booming laughter. “ _Ninja Turtles!_ My son used to read those comics.” He laughed until tears came to his eyes and then the humor switched over to grief. He looked down into his lap and murmured, “God, I miss him. I miss them both so much.” 

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “When you get to Alexandria, you won’t be alone anymore. You’ll be safe. You’ll have friends to help you.” 

That seemed to give him some comfort. He wiped his eyes. “It’ll be nice to see Rick again. How is he?” 

“He’s a good leader. A good father. Very protective,” Aaron said neutrally. 

Morgan wasn’t stupid and looked over at the scout who was deliberately keeping his eyes trained on the road. “What’s wrong with him?” He asked bluntly. 

“I never said there was anything wrong with him.” 

“No. You’re not saying much at all. Can’t help but notice that. I didn’t like how Daryl hauled you aside when the subject of him came up, either.” 

“Speaking of which...” Aaron caught sight of a faint dot of red when he drove over a rise and increased the speed until the hunter’s bike was in sight. He should have been grateful for small favors. The Monstrosity had no hope of keeping up with the motorcycle when Daryl decided to open it up. At this time of night it was suicidal to drive too fast no matter how fast your reflexes were and the man was being about as cautious as he dared. When Aaron was behind him, he beeped his horn once. Daryl responded by flipping him the bird. 

Aaron sighed. “He sure holds a grudge,” he muttered unhappily. 

“Is he upset about bringing me back?” Morgan asked. 

Aaron flashed him a look. “Absolutely not. It has _nothing_ to do with you. It’s our _job_ to find people to bring back. That’s part of what’s wrong, I think. We were on the trail of someone else and lost him. If it hadn’t been for me choosing to go into that processing plant instead of continuing our search like he wanted to do, we never would have gotten trapped. I seriously messed up. Damn near got us both killed.” 

Shelving the topic of Rick for the time being, Morgan stared at him. “Just out of curiosity, who were you tracking?” 

Releasing a dry snort, Aaron said, “One lone guy. You wouldn’t believe what he was wearing. It was a-“ 

“A bright red poncho,” the black man finished for him. 

The scout almost went off the road as he swung his head around in shock. “You saw him, too?” 

“That’s how I found you two,” Morgan said. “He led me to the plant the same way he did with you.” 

“What are you saying? That he was part of the trap?” 

“Surely you’ve heard of Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolves?” 

“That story only had one wolf.” 

“Maybe so, but mine has more.” 

Aaron stared at him out of the corner of his eye. “Tell me everything you know,” he said in a hard voice.

 

* * *

 


	2. Ambushed

Of all of the myriad parts in Aaron’s garage that were used in the assembly of Daryl Dixon’s motorcycle, a horn hadn’t been among them. Daryl pulled up to the closed gate of Alexandria and used the next best thing, his voice. 

 _“Hey! Open up!”_ He shouted between the bars. 

Aaron pulled up behind him and honked the horn of the Monstrosity; two times, a pause, and then three more. He did it again and, when there was no response, matched Daryl’s frustrated expression. “There’s nobody at the gate.” 

“No shit,” the hunter shot back, still angry from their exchange back at Del Arno. “Ram the damn thing with yer car.” 

Deliberately tucking the keys into the front pocket of his dark gray pants, the tall scout favored him with a look of exasperation. “Not necessary. There’s a false wall panel on the Safe-zone’s east side designed exactly for this type of contingency. We’ll get in from there.” 

Illuminated by the glow of the flashlight the younger man was carrying, Daryl’s usually narrowed eyes actually widened in shock. “How come you never told me about that?” 

“We put it in when the walls first went up. Only the original occupants of Alexandria and those who regularly go out beyond the wall know about it.” 

Daryl glowered at him. “Ya still ain’t answered my question.” 

“Guys.” Morgan had gotten out of the car and was looking through the bars. 

“I’m telling you now,” Aaron said, still looking at Daryl. 

“Ya should’a told me, ya sneaky sonova-” 

“Calm down,” the younger man said. His deep voice had gained a hard edge that anyone else in Alexandria would have recognized as a warning. Aaron was generally viewed as a level-headed pacifist, but it was well known to the residents that he hadn’t managed to survive two years of excursions beyond the walls because of his easy-going personality. “This was our first run. There’s lots I haven’t told you. Would you _please_ stop thinking that everything I do or say is some sort of personal attack?” 

“We need to get inside now!” 

“Guys,” Morgan said again. “Someone’s coming.” 

That got their attention. They came up beside him and saw someone with a flashlight and shotgun running towards them. Aaron immediately recognized the silhouette. “Spencer! Let us in!” 

“Aaron? Oh, thank god!” The eldest son of Deanna and Reg Monroe unlatched the gate and pulled it open long enough to let them inside before securely closing it again. “The whole town’s in a panic. Everything’s gone to shit. Aiden- He-he’s dead!” 

Aaron grabbed him by the shoulders to steady him. “What the hell happened?” 

Spencer shook his head. “I don’t know. A raid went wrong. Noah’s dead, too. That’s not even the worst of it. Rick went crazy and attacked Pete. Threatened everyone with a gun he stole from the armory-“ At that, Aaron flashed a hard look in Daryl’s direction. “Everyone’s over at the square right now. There was a meeting to decide whether we should exile him-“ 

“The _fuck_ you say?!” Daryl erupted, held back –barely- by Morgan’s restraining hand. 

“Someone left the gate open and roamers got in. Rick got them all. I-I think. He’s at the meeting now. He-“ There were screams coming from the gathering and Daryl immediately took off running. Morgan and Aaron started to follow but when Spencer started to come along, Aaron pointed at the gate. “You stay there. Keep watch!” 

“But-“ 

“Spencer, I’ll explain later, but we might have been followed. Stay there!” 

Practically cradling his shotgun to his chest, the harried man could only offer a palsied nod as he watched the two run after Daryl. 

“Sorry there’s no welcome wagon,” Aaron said as he ran even pace beside Morgan. “We usually treat new arrivals better than this.” 

“Yeah, well, I was kind of expecting it to be honest with you,” Morgan said. At the scout’s bemused glance, he added, “Things like this just seem to follow Rick around.” 

Aaron all but rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the tip.” 

They caught up to the hunter who had stopped beside the brick archway of the community center. He held his crossbow in a ready grip but hadn’t cocked it. Nevertheless, Morgan gripped his staff and Aaron placed his hand on the .38 Special holstered to his right hip. As a group they watched Abraham struggling to hold Pete Anderson to the ground while Deanna was cradling her dying husband in her arms. She said something that was lost in the shouts and screams of the members of the community who were still present. 

All of a sudden, Rick turned around and shot Pete in the head without a second’s hesitation. The upper part of the doctor’s head blew out in all directions in a fine spray of blood and brains. 

Morgan couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Was that filth-coated, dead-eyed automaton really the man he had been struggling to find for the last three months? “... Rick?” he asked in disbelief and the constable raised his eyes. 

There was a beat of silence as he, Daryl and Aaron stared back at him before Jesse released a wail and dropped to her knees beside her dead husband. That broke the paralysis. Aaron went to Eric, who’d had a front row seat to the whole depraved scene, and held him tightly for a few seconds before thrusting his crutches at him. “We’re leaving,” was all he had to say. Eric, numb with shock, eagerly went with him. They disappeared into the shadows along with the other residents until there was only a handful of the living and dead remaining by the light of the fire. 

“Morgan,” Rick rasped out. He rubbed the crusted blood from his eyes and squinted to try and see if the image wasn’t a mirage. “That... Is that really you?” 

“It’s me,” Morgan said, forcing a false smile on his face. “Why don’t you put away your gun so we can talk? Hm? What do you say to that?” 

Rick looked down at his hand like a man still stuck in a dream (or a nightmare), blinking at the small semi-automatic pistol clenched in his grip. His Colt Python was locked away in the armory and this was one of three weapons Carol had stolen a week before. It took some effort to will his hand to open and the gun dropped to the ground. He continued to stare down at it until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder and saw that Morgan was now close beside him. “How-? Where did you-?” His eyes caught Daryl’s. “You found him?” 

“He found us. Saved our asses,” the hunter said, evaluating the scene. “Why don’t you two go off and, I dunno, go talk or somethin’.” _Before ya go batshit crazy again and decide to kill some more folks_ , he wanted to add out loud. He had seen that look on Rick’s face before. The last time had been when he’d ripped out Joe’s throat with his bare teeth. Daryl figured the look had been there when he’d hacked Gareth to pieces with his machete, too. He was grateful to have been spared that sight, truth to tell. Every time Rick lost himself to the bloodlust, it was harder and harder to get him back. Daryl was glad that Morgan was here because, right now, he wasn’t sure he could remain calm around the man who called him “brother”. Sure, he didn’t know the whole story that had led up to this, but he’d just seen Rick execute a man in cold blood. That was a damned hard sight to shake. 

He turned to look at Carol and he must have caught her by surprise because there appeared to be a hint of a smile on her face before it dropped and became neutral when she noticed his attention. He wanted to think it had been an odd play of shadows from the fire but knew, in his guts, he hadn’t imagined it. She had been gloating over the scene. He turned to Abraham instead. “What the f-“ 

There was shouting from the gate. Spencer. The man started ringing a bell and calling for help. 

“Son of a dick,” Abraham rumbled. “ _Now_ what?” 

Morgan’s eyes grew very wide. He’d thought Aaron’s caution that they might have been followed back to this town was prudent, but highly unlikely. Now, he wasn’t so sure. 

“Abraham, Michonne. Help me here,” Carol said, kneeling beside a grief-stricken Deanna. There were losses here that couldn’t be ignored despite the escalating chaos and one situation in particular that had to be dealt with quickly. Reg was dead from a slit throat and the way his wife was holding him put her life in danger if he suddenly reanimated. 

Rick watched Carol slide a knife out of a hidden pocket while Michonne tried to distract Deanna from what had to be done. It was routine to his group so he left it to them and picked up his gun. He hesitated when he looked down at Jesse who was still crying beside her husband. He began to reach for her shoulder, saw how filthy his hand looked coated in walker brains and quickly pulled it back. “I- Jesse, I’m-” He couldn’t seem to say the words. There was a noticeable pause in her weeping before it resumed. She didn’t look up at him. 

Rick, Morgan and Daryl ran to join Spencer at the gate. Maggie and Sasha had arrived first and Maggie was cradling Glenn, who looked either unconscious or dead. Nicholas was sitting on the ground nearby, struggling to get his breath. It looked like he’d been in a serious brawl. When he saw the men coming, he quickly put up his hands and began babbling. “I heard him calling for help. I don’t know what happened. Honest! I saved his-” 

“Liar,” Rick snarled, pressing the barrel of the pistol against his temple. Of the two, Morgan got to him before Daryl did and pushed his arm down before things turned into (another) bloodbath. 

“We’ll sort all of this out later. Together,” Morgan said in that soft, comforting voice of his. Rick seemed fixated on it like a cobra to a flute. He nodded slowly. 

Daryl crouched beside Glenn and saw the bullet wound in his right shoulder and indications of a fight. He also stank almost as bad as Rick did; the result of a scrap with walkers. “Maggie.” The woman was cradling her husband’s head and sobbing. “Maggie! He’s breathin’. We need to get him to the clinic ASAP. Y’hear me?” 

She responded by nodding and wiping her nose then her eyes. As a group, they took him to the infirmary although no one wanted to point out the futility of it. Not until Maggie began calling for Pete and was told what had happened at the town meeting. She turned to Rick who stared blankly back at her with his faded, dead eyes. In a deceptively calm voice she said, “You killed him.” It was not a question. 

“He killed Deanna’s husband.” 

“You’d best pray you didn’t kill mine,” she threatened. Her furious gaze lingered for a moment before she turned and helped Rosita get the injured man out of his soiled clothes.

 

* * *

 

Aaron was staring out of the window of his house when the clanging of the bell could be heard coming from the gate. He was biting his bottom lip so hard he was close to drawing blood. When a hand fell on his shoulder, he spun around with a shout of surprise. Of course, it was Eric. Just peaceful, innocent Eric standing there on his crutches and looking at him with a horrified expression on his face. “Oh my God. What’s wrong? What happened to you out there?” 

“You’ve got Pete’s brains painted on your cast and you’re asking me?” The taller man parried in an uneven voice. He didn’t want to talk about the hacked-apart bodies or the naked dead woman tied to a tree with barbed wire. He especially didn’t want to talk about being trapped in a compact car for well over an hour surrounded by ravenous roamers. He wanted to forget about all of that but knew it was pointless. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw broken fingernails scrape futilely over and over, held back from clawing his face off by glass less than a quarter-inch thick. Sleep seemed like a complete and total impossibility at this point in time. 

“Aaron, I know when something’s wrong with you. You’re white as a sheet and-“ His words faltered when the .38 was thrust into his hand. “What are you doing?” 

“You make sure you keep that close. I’ve got my machete. Christ, I wish I had my Remington,” Aaron fretted, thinking of his bolt action rifle with the sound suppressor locked away at the armory. The last time he’d used it had been to put Buttons out of his misery. He ran a nervous hand back and forth through his short hair, trying to think. 

It would be an earnest lie to say that Eric hadn’t seen him act this way before. In as steady a voice as possible, he said, “I want you to calm down. All right? Take a few deep breaths. Sit down and tell me what’s bothering you.” 

“No time,” he muttered, going to the door and checking the locks like he’d done twice already. He lowered the living room blinds and shut off the lamp by the door. He started to go to all the windows on the ground floor of the house, checking the latches before dropping the shades. 

Eric tracked his erratic movements with wide eyes. He gave up on the pretense. “Aaron, you’re scaring me.” 

The scout slid to a halt and looked at him, _really_ looked at him for the first time since they’d gotten home. “Do you remember Davidson?” 

Eric swallowed. “I remembered what he did,” he said in a small voice. 

“And do you remember what happened after?” 

Realization dawned in the redhead’s face. He looked at the locked door and windows with sudden understanding. “You think because of Rick-?” 

“Not just Rick. We brought _all_ of them back. There’s going to be hell to pay this time. I want you to go upstairs and lock yourself in the bedroom-“ 

“No! There’s no way I’m going to leave you-“ 

Aaron quickly crossed the distance and crushed his mouth against his boyfriend’s. He was kissing him with a desperate intensity as if it were the last time they’d have the chance. “Go upstairs,” he whispered into his ear when they parted for breath. “Please, Eric. _Please_ do this for me.” 

Before Eric could manage a response, an alarm went off. All of the houses in Alexandria had been designed to be state-of-the-art and when Aaron went to the security panel on the wall, he saw that there was a fire in the garage. “Do as I said!” He barked, running for the fire extinguisher and opening the inside door to the garage. The exterior door was pulled up and the fire was conveniently set near it. Just a simple bucket fire to lure him out and it had worked exactly as planned. 

“This is all your fault,” Blake Collins said, obviously waiting for him. He was flanked by two of his buddies. One was carrying a crowbar and the other a large wrench. Blake was winding a small chain around his hand to act as improvised brass knuckles. “Your recruiting days are over for good, queer.” 

Aaron heard the sound of Eric’s voice from the house and reacted out of blind instinct. Blasting at the intruders with the fire extinguisher, he dropped it and lunged for the door. As he grasped the knob, he spared the redhead a fleeting, desperate glance. “I love you, Eric.” 

The other man’s eyes grew very wide. “Aaron-?” 

Aaron pulled the door closed and picked up a spent soldering rod from the floor, jamming it into the lock. He managed to snap it off in the mechanism just as Blake and his buddies reached him.

 

* * *

 

Alexandria was a town stuck in a state of shock. Most of the residents had rushed home from the disastrous meeting and locked their doors. The grim act of ensuring Reg Monroe would not reanimate was done and his body, along with Pete Anderson, were moved to a nearby garage. Father Gabriel was performing Last Rites on them in preparation for next day’s burial. To be with his mother in this confusing time of loss, Tobin replaced Spencer at the gate and the last of the Monroe’s retreated to their home to deal with their shock and grief. Erin and Francine were with them. Olivia was with Jesse Anderson and her two boys. 

One part of Rick’s group had holed up in one of the houses as they tried to decompress. Rick and Morgan were there but the constable had to get cleaned up first and the black man found himself stuck among a handful of tense strangers. Maggie and Michonne were at the home-based clinic where Glenn and Nicholas had been taken. 

Daryl was outside on the porch of that make-shift infirmary with his crossbow just in case there was any trouble. With Pete dead, the only ones on hand with any kind of medical training were Rosita and Carol. Glenn’s gunshot wound, while luckily a through-and-through, was still very serious. At this stage, about the only thing that could be done was clean the wound, bandage it, and pump him full of antibiotics. If there was internal damage the Asian was screwed for sure. Nicholas’ injuries weren’t nearly as serious and he was deliberately left on the sidelines until Glenn could be stabilized. Situated among Rick’s group as he was, he was extremely compliant. It seemed his true colors only came out when he was hiding in the shadows waiting for an ambush. It was clear that he had tried to kill Glenn and, from what Daryl heard from snatches of rushed exchanges, he was also responsible for Noah’s death. Daryl didn’t feel any remorse about Aiden. The kid had been cocky and a coward and, if the rumors were true, he and Nicholas were also responsible for the death of four other Alexandrians. Six folks dead, a wife and kids getting beaten by their drunk of a father, and during it all Deanna Monroe had holed herself up in her apartment like some queen of the castle. Now she was out a husband and a kid and there was nobody to blame but herself for all the needless loss. 

 _What goes ‘round comes ‘round_ , Daryl thought while smoking a cigarette. 

He found himself looking across the street at Aaron and Eric’s house. Like most of the others in the community, it was locked up tight and dark. Despite what had happened with Rick forefront in his troubled mind, he didn’t like to see the pair close themselves off like this and knew he was partly to blame for it. He and Aaron had seriously clashed after the Del Arno debacle mainly because of his lingering resentment about being spied on. He should have realized that Rick behaving like he was God’s gift to the world wouldn’t have soothed over suspicions about a group of unknowns moving into this coveted sanctuary. It also wasn’t a coincidence that Aaron would have been tapped for the job of keeping an eye (or ear) on them. From the sound of things, he was the one left holding the bag if a potential recruit didn’t work out. If the tables were turned, Daryl would have done exactly the same thing. Hell, in the prison, he _had_ done the same thing to the Woodbury additions; listening in on whispered exchanges, watching a few that maybe looked suspicious, reporting back to Rick and the council about what he’d heard and suspected. Maybe that’s why he was so pissed over their argument. Appearance-wise, they couldn’t look more different, but damned if he and Aaron didn’t seem to think along the same lines. 

 _Maybe..._ Daryl’s mouth worked and he took a deep draw from the cigarette and then pitched it over the porch railing. Maybe that’s _really_ why he was so upset over the whole thing. That he and a _gay guy_ could have so much in common. That didn’t make him any better than the folks who were giving the couple grief, now did it? 

Not for the first time, he inwardly cursed Merle and his upbringing for beating a mentality into him that just didn’t want to lie down and stay dead. 

“Fuck,” he grumbled under his breath. If there was anything he hated more than acting like a douchebag, it was feeling like he had to apologize for being one. Was it his fault that dealing with Aaron was completely outside of his realm of experience? Daryl had never encountered anyone like him before, sexual orientation notwithstanding. If the younger scout had shouted back or thrown a punch, they probably would have come back to Alexandria with a better partnership than they had right now. At least behavior like that was something Daryl was used to dealing with. Aaron’s diplomatic approach to confrontations seriously threw him off his game. 

He debated waiting until morning to apologize but the longer he mulled the situation over in his mind, the more upset he became. Especially when he considered their exchange in the car when the younger man had chosen to go the route of The Alamo rather than take the easy way out and save his own ass. There were people in Daryl's own 'family' who wouldn't have done what Aaron did. 

For _him_. 

That selfless action had earned more than his respect this afternoon. Aaron had earned his friendship. That was something even more rare and precious to the hunter and he knew he had to make the effort to maintain it. 

Inside of the infirmary there was only one hospital bed and, now that Tara had regained consciousness, she had moved to a cot. In fact, she had insisted on giving up the main bed the second she'd seen the state of Glenn, whom she had a particular connection with. She wanted to do more, but it was clear she wasn't recovered from the head trauma she'd suffered. Another cot was set up in a far corner and Nicholas was lying there. His son Mikey had shown up to keep him company which was probably a good thing for him. The kid was probably the only reason why his father was still breathing. Glenn had come around a little and managed to tell them what had happened before passing out again. After that, the others in the group had to disarm Maggie who still looked like she was willing (and able) to strangle the man to death with her bare hands. 

Daryl walked over to the dead doctor's desk where Carol was sifting through medical books. There were several around her, all opened to pages that dealt with gunshot trauma. If anyone could puzzle out the intricate pictures and text, it was her. The woman may have changed dramatically in personality, but the one thing that could not be disputed was her intelligence. 

"Hey," he said in greeting. He felt as antsy being near her here as he had when he'd caught her smiling at Pete's death. He couldn't figure out why until Aaron's voice piped up in the back of his mind; 

 _'You DO know the difference between a good person and a bad person.'_  

His arms broke out in gooseflesh and he was grateful for the leather coat that covered his usually bare arms. Fortunately, his expression never changed. Not even when Carol looked up from the medical journal she was reading and passed him one barely-perceptible appraisal before smiling. "Welcome back. Sorry you had to see what you did." 

 _Are you?_ He thought. What he said instead was, "When things settle down I gotta feelin you've got a helluva story for me." 

One corner of her lips tilted up a little. "I was thinking the same about how you managed to find Rick's long-lost savior." 

"Like I told Rick, he found me and Aaron. Can't fault his timing." He nodded over at the bed Glenn was lying on. Maggie was gently washing the blood and gore from his face with a damp towel while Rosita bandaged his other wounds. "How's he doin?" 

"The bleeding's stopped. That's good. But he has a lot of scratches and open cuts and it's obvious he fought walkers..." 

"You thinkin he might'a gotten nailed?" 

"Bites seem to be the only thing that causes the infection and we haven't found any. All of us have gotten their blood or brain matter into our wounds at one time or other and we're still standing. We can only hope that'll be the case here." 

"Yer soundin like a doctor already," he said with a wane smile. 

"We'll make it without Pete. We have before." 

"Sure, on the _road_. But even in the prison we had a doctor. Hell, two if ya counted Hershel." Speaking the name brought back that familiar ache of loss. 

She fixed him with a curious look. The expression on her face was the same now as when he'd turned down the offer of one of the stolen guns. "Are you okay?" 

"I got into it with Aaron 'fore we headed back," he chose to say in an attempt to deflect her suspicion rather than get into an argument with her. He knew he wouldn't win one against her anyway. She knew him too damn well. "Was thinkin maybe I should go over and talk to him 'bout it." 

"That would be a great idea," she said. "He and Eric are part of the family now, right?" 

"I think so. Yeah." 

"That's good. With Noah dead and Glenn wounded we're going to need all the allies we can get." With a curt nod, she returned to her books without another word. The action was like some sort of dismissal and Daryl took a wandering step back, staring at her in confusion. When he spun around and left the building, she never even noticed. 

About the only positive outcome of that conversation was the reinforcement that Daryl needed to talk to Aaron _now_. At this point in time, the scout seemed to be just about the only level-minded person left in the entire compound. Everyone else were either batshit crazy, grieving, strategizing, hiding, or wounded. If Daryl had thought things at Alexandria were fucked-up before he'd left, five days of being away revealed that it had gotten even worse. He didn't think that was even possible. 

He was just crossing the street in front of Aaron and Eric's house when the flare went up directly above it.

 

* * *

 

 

 


	3. Repercussions

The emergency flare shot up straight above Aaron and Eric’s house, lighting up the immediate neighborhood. Before it could arc downwards, Daryl ran back to the infirmary and slapped the door three times before sprinting across the road. He charged up the stairs of the porch, crossbow cocked and ready, but found the front door and windows all securely locked. The house looked dark and he didn’t take it as an encouraging sign and ran around to the back. 

The situation was far more chaotic behind the house. A bucket fire had overturned in the open garage and set fire to some spilled oil, creating a choking cloud of smoke. It hadn’t helped that several shelves and a work table had been knocked over, spilling more combustible materials. Daryl grabbed for an extinguisher he saw lying on the floor and saw a pair of legs lying beside it, trapped under an overturned shelve of motorcycle parts. He immediately pulled the body free but it wasn’t Eric or Aaron. It was some Alexandrian he didn’t recognize. 

The guy was rousing to a sludgy semi-conscious state and Daryl grabbed him by the front of his shirt and roughly shook him. “What the fuck‘re ya doin’ here?!” He shouted into the man’s bloody face. From the looks of him the guy had been seriously roughed up and, when he didn’t want to talk, the hunter landed a solid punch, knocking him out again. 

Daryl turned his attention to the fire. A few well-placed blasts put out the flames and when he set down the extinguisher, he heard the frenzied knocking on the inside garage door. When he tried to open it, he found the keyhole of the door knob was jammed with some piece of metal. “Eric? That you?” 

 _“Daryl!”_ Came the redhead’s relieved voice from the other side of the door _. “They ambushed Aaron. I think I saw them drag him over to the pond. Hurry!”_  

“Sonsabitches!” Daryl pelted out into the road and ran a short distance before cutting across to the small park-like setting that marked the center of the walled community. There were no lights out here but, thankfully, the encroaching houses were close enough to provide enough illumination to make out the surroundings. With his sharp eyes, the hunter made out a pair of figures who were almost waist-deep in the water as well as a third who was floundering between them and coughing. 

“Fer fuck’s sake! Grab his hair an’ hold him down!” One voice said roughly. 

“I tried! The faggot bit me! If I get AIDs from him, I’m gonna kill you next!” 

“Fuckin’ sit on him then!” 

The pair dropped down together and that third figure disappeared from view under the water. With a roar of fury, Daryl charged into the pond, using his crossbow like a bludgeon and catching Blake across the temple with the metal cocking stirrup. When the other man began moving over to assist his buddy, Daryl brought the stock to his shoulder, lining up for a shot. His intent was unmistakable. “Gimme a reason,” he growled. 

A hand grasped his leg and he whirled around and shot a bolt through Blake’s wrist. The burly construction worker screamed in pain and floundered for dry ground while the other tackled Daryl. The pair wrestled in the water and Daryl unsheathed his knife and was prepared to start cutting when someone else came forward and pulled the man off him. 

Abraham had heard the distant shots. When he stepped outside the house, he saw the commotion down by the pond. He hadn’t come alone. Morgan and Sasha were with him. Morgan saw Blake trying to get away and knocked the feet out from underneath of him with his staff, placing the end on the back of his neck to hold him in place. 

“What the hell’s going on?!” Abe shouted to no one in particular. He dragged the man he’d grabbed off of Daryl to the edge of the pond and stomped a boot down on his chest to hold him in place. 

Daryl threw his crossbow to dry land and ran into deeper water. “Assholes went after Aaron. Tried to drown ‘im.” He said, running his arms back and forth through the water. Christ, it couldn’t be deep enough to kill a man, could it? 

Sasha handed her rifle to Abraham to help him search. Casting one glance at Blake, Morgan let him go and joined them. 

Abraham reached down and hauled up the man to see him better. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

Damned if the prick didn’t have the nerve to spit in his face. “That faggot brought you pricks here. He’s the one to blame for all of this-” That was as far as he got before a fist slammed into his face and knocked him flat. 

“Motherdick,” Abe cursed, wiping his face. He added a kick to the guy’s gut just for the hell of it. 

“Hold on! Think I got somethin’!” One of Daryl’s hands touched fabric. It was like trying to grab onto a soaked bag of oats and he wouldn’t have managed to get Aaron up above the water of not for Morgan and Sasha’s help. As a group they managed to pull him to the edge of the pond before laying him on his back. 

“I don’t think he’s breathing,” Sasha said. “I’ll go for help,” she said and ran in the direction of the infirmary where several people had stepped out. 

Daryl was at a complete loss what he could do. He looked helplessly at Morgan. “D’ya know CPR? Only time I saw it was on the TV and I was-“ He was going to say ‘wasted’ and didn’t want to admit to some of the antics he’d gotten up to while hanging with Merle. Not to this new guy. “Aw nuts,” he grumbled. He pinched Aaron’s nose closed and, scowling with displeasure, he actually began leaning in- 

Aaron suddenly spasmed, spitting up a great gout of water directly into his face. “... No mouth-to-mouth ... y’gotta shave first,” he gasped before coughing in great whooping gasps. Water flew from his lips in a fine spray. 

“Asshole!” Daryl said in relief even as he wiped his face. 

Morgan helped roll the stricken scout on to his side and began thumping his back to try and help get the water out of his lungs. “Steady there, son.” 

“Mouthwash, too,” Aaron sputtered between ragged draws of breath. “Damn smoker.” 

“Do ya ever shaddup fer one sec?” The hunter snapped in exasperation, eyeing him with a critical eye. He knew Aaron resorted to humor to offset nervousness and it appeared that applied to being injured as well. His face was as cut up and bloody as the knuckles of both of his hands. It looked like he had put up one hell of a fight if the state of the garage (and the man he’d found) was any indication. The water running from his hair was darker than it should have been. Daryl hoped it was just a minor scalp laceration. Anything more serious... He started chewing on the inside of his lip in worry. “Can you walk? Need t’ get you to the infirmary.” 

Aaron shook his head and simply lay there, gasping weakly. “Why bother? Your boss killed the only doctor we had.” He struggled to sit up and couldn’t manage it until Morgan helped him. 

The word ‘boss’ didn’t sit very well with the already agitated hunter. “Rick had no choice. Pete killed Deanna’s man.” 

“Convenient timing there, y’ask me.” 

For a split second, Daryl was haunted by the sight of Carol’s smirk before he fought the image back. “I ain’t askin’ you so shaddup before I throw ya back in the pond.” His griping was stilled by a firm hand on his shoulder. Daryl found himself looking into the steady gaze of Morgan’s dark eyes. 

“Calm down,” the older man murmured. “This isn’t the time or place for another argument.” 

Daryl hadn’t been serious, but Morgan hadn’t had time to figure out their working dynamic yet. From what he’d seen of their interactions, they looked like two men at odds with each other when it really couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Ignoring him, Daryl said in a softer voice, “C’mon. Let’s get ya up.” He looped one of Aaron’s arms around his neck and hauled him to his feet. The young scout was taller but lean. He didn’t weigh much more than Daryl. The swift motion made his head swim and he felt like he going to throw up until he heard: 

“You stay right where you are.” Rick had joined the group as well as his son, Carl. The former deputy was still dripping wet from his interrupted shower and was wearing only a pair of jeans and his boots. He had his weapon drawn on Blake who had been trying to get away from the fracas without being noticed. He took one look at Rick and then the gun and all thoughts of his perforated wrist and other wounds were instantly forgotten. He froze like a statue. 

Aaron’s reaction to Rick’s appearance wasn’t much better. He recoiled away from Daryl and fell bonelessly down to the ground, landing on his right side and shouting in pain. When the hunter moved forward to help him, he held up a trembling hand while trying to back away. 

“What the hell, man?” Daryl tried to keep the hurt and confusion out of his voice. 

“It’s not you,” Aaron muttered. One of his eyes was swelling closed but the other was trained solely to where Rick was standing. The hunter was stunned to see fear in his face. Not even when they’d been stuck in that compact car surrounded by walkers had he looked so obviously distressed. 

“You got to him in time. Thank you, Daryl!” Eric finally made it to the scene and he knelt protectively beside his boyfriend. He was still holding onto the revolver. Just the fact he had it with him was bad news. It made the statement that the situation in Alexandria had changed and definitely not for the better. “Oh, those bastards. Look at what they did to you,” he fretted, running gentle fingers along his lover’s bruised face. “Let’s get you home where it’s safe.” 

“I’ll help you,” Morgan said, settling beside them. 

Aaron’s eyes fluttered. He stayed conscious by sheer force of will. “Have you told them about the Wolves?” He muttered under his breath. 

“Not yet,” Morgan said. “I was waiting-“ 

“You have to-to talk to them. Tell them-tell ‘em what ... you know... Warn-” Aaron’s eyes slipped closed and he began to slump against the older man. Daryl took the opportunity to swoop in and catch him, wrapping a supporting arm around his waist. With his crutches and cast, all Eric could do was guard their back, making it clear that no one else was to interfere as they made it back to the couple’s home. 

Abraham glanced after them as he approached Rick and then looked down at the man who was still sitting on the ground, clutching his wounded wrist. He knew Blake Collins from the construction site and had cautioned him more than once about his tendency to bully members of the crew. He mainly stuck to harassing Francine, which bothered Abe more than he liked to admit. “What’s going on here?” 

“I know this guy,” Rick said. “I saw him and Aaron get into a scuffle shortly after we got here.” 

“So they’ve got history.” 

“Looks like. Aaron took him down pretty easily. I guess this time he needed reinforcements.”  

Abraham nodded at Rick. “You gonna shoot him?” 

Blake’s eyes got amazingly wide when he heard that. “Huh? _Hey!_ You can’t do that!” 

“Dad?” Carl was standing beside his father and looking at him uneasily. They hadn’t exchanged more than a few words to each other since the day before when Rick had shoved him aside like a stranger and raving like a lunatic. He had been fortunate not to have attended the fireside meeting tonight, but word travelled fast and none of it had painted his father in a positive light. He recognized that cold, detached expression on the older man’s face with dread. At one point, not so very long ago, it had been an image he’d shared looking in a mirror. It was the face of a hardened killer; unmoved by compassion or logic and only hell bent on survival at all possible costs. 

Morgan’s abrupt appearance had helped to steady Rick and make him start to see reason again. Even so, his finger almost seemed to have a mind of its own and was tightening around the trigger seemingly of its own volition. He lowered the gun in a hurry. “No. There’s been enough killing tonight-“ 

“You should know,” Blake snarled. 

“Shut up, dumbnuts,” Abe cut in. 

“Let’s take him to the infirmary. Hell, with any luck, Daryl pulled that bolt out of a walker and didn’t think to clean it before he shot him,” Rick said with a slightly amused smile in Blake’s direction. “I guess we’ll find out for sure if you haven’t turned by morning.” 

Blake’s face, pale to begin with, blanched so noticeably that it almost glowed in the dark. Sasha reclaimed her rifle and escorted the construction worker away without much resistance. Abraham snorted in amusement and dragged the other semi-conscious man along behind her, being none too gentle about it. 

“You didn’t really mean that, did you?” Carl asked. “About hoping he’d turn?” 

“Hmm?” There was still a half-smile on Rick’s face when he turned to his son. Carl took one look at what he saw there and slowly shook his head, backing away. Without a word, the youth turned and ran back to the house. 

“Carl?” Rick asked in complete confusion.

 

* * *

  

Daryl and Morgan were going to take Aaron upstairs to the bedroom but Eric steered them towards the living room instead. “It’s 16 degrees out there tonight. That water was nearly freezing. He’s turning hypothermic.” 

Aaron was shivering quite badly and Daryl pulled a blanket from the sofa and wrapped it around him after he deposited him as gently as he could on the rug in front of the fireplace. Morgan moved in to help Eric light the stoked wood. The redhead’s hands were shaking so badly he kept dropping the matches. 

“I’ve got this,” the older man said gently. “See to your boyfriend.” 

While Morgan tended to the fire, Eric glanced up at Daryl. “There’s a first aid kit under the sink in the downstairs bathroom-“ 

“I know where it is. Be right back.” The hunter went to go retrieve it and then remembered the unconscious man in the garage. He went to the door off the kitchen and found the knob jammed tight. He figured he knew what happened there. Aaron had sabotaged the lock from the other side to prevent Eric from helping him when he got jumped. During his time in getting to know the scout, the act didn’t surprise Daryl much. 

It took two hits with his shoulder to pop the lock and he stumbled inside the garage, taking a quick look around. Aaron’s assailant was gone, leaving a trail of blood splatters on the cement floor and down the driveway. Daryl resolved they wouldn’t be hard to track but that was a chore destined for morning. He pulled down the garage door and locked it, returning back to the house. 

He went into the downstairs bathroom and retrieved the emergency kit, well aware that he was dripping water everywhere and grabbed a few towels off the rack to wipe himself off. Eric was right, it was damned cold outside and he was grateful for his leather coat even if his threadbare pants weren’t much protection. When he got back, Morgan had the fire going like a pro. Grateful for the source of warmth, he sat down next to the trio. He was astonished by how exhausted he suddenly felt. It had been one helluva long, terrible goddamned day. 

“Thanks,” Eric said, grabbing the kit. He was starting to pull off Aaron’s soaked coat when the scout suddenly pulled out of his fugue and jumped backwards so hard that his back collided with the sofa, upsetting the contents of the table behind it. He was instinctively grabbing for his .38 which was no longer in its holster. His other hand was going for his machete when Daryl caught his wrist. “Calm down, man. You’re home now.” 

“Home...” Aaron panted, looking at the shocked faces that were staring at him. He had to force himself to relax. “Thought I was back in that d-damned car again.” He pulled the blanket tighter around him as his shivering intensified. 

“What the hell happened to you two out there?” Eric asked, looking urgently at Daryl. 

The two recruiters had been on edge since their discovery of the butchered men and woman. He decided to spare the redhead that portion of their journey. The rest he had to say was bad enough. “We found a canning factory and thought we scored some food for the town. The friggin trailers were fulla walkers and jury-rigged to open. Set ‘em free by mistake. Had to wait it out in a compact car while they had us surrounded.” Daryl motioned to Morgan. “He saved our asses.” 

Eric was parting Aaron’s curly hair, looking for the wound on his scalp that was still bleeding. “What kind of sick bastards would do something like that?” 

“They call themselves Wolves,” Morgan said. “I met a pair during my travels. They had a neat little lure all worked out to pull people towards that trap.” 

“Little red riding prick,” Aaron muttered. Eric thought he was delusional except for the way Daryl looked at him. 

“That guy in the red poncho we were tailin? He was a part’a that?” There was a hard edge of anger to his voice. 

“If it hadn’t of been for him, I never would have found where you two were,” Morgan explained. 

Daryl was starting to curse when there was a direct knock on the front door. Aaron did another one of his panicked spasms again before Eric managed to calm him down. The redhead had never seen him act so out of character before. “It’s okay, hon. Everything’s alright now.” 

Aaron looked anxiously over at the door that Daryl was walking over to answer. “Nothing’s okay anymore,” he said under his breath. 

Sasha and Rosita were standing on the porch when Daryl pulled it open, asking about the state of the injured scout. While they talked, Aaron told Morgan again; “You have to go tell them what you know about the Wolves. Everyone needs to hear it.” 

Morgan looked at him with concern. “But you-“ 

Eric found the cut on his lover’s head and pressed a bandage against it. He didn’t think it needed stitches. “You think this is his first gay-bashing? Or his second? For either of us? I know what to do.” In a lower voice almost impossible to hear, he whispered, “... Unfortunately.” Aaron grabbed his free hand and squeezed it. 

Morgan wordlessly patted Eric’s shoulder as he climbed to his feet and walked over to the door. He could overhear the conversation. 

“Naw, he won’t go,” Daryl said to Rosita, answering her question about taking Aaron to the infirmary. “We’ve been through hell today and home is safest for him right now. If somethin happens, Eric’ll prob’ly jus fire off another flare.” He meant it as a lame stab at humor, perhaps an indication of Aaron wearing off on him, and the joke fell just as flat. He noticed the older man joining them. “He good?” 

“Eric says that he has things under control. I believe him.” Morgan passed a distracted smile at the two women and then looked back at him. “We all need to go somewhere to talk. It’s important.” 

“Yeah, I heard ‘im rambling,” Daryl said. He plucked at his wet clothes. “Need t’get outta these clothes anyway.” He looked over in the direction of the fireplace. The gay couple was largely hidden from view by the sofa but he could see the top of Eric’s head. He raised his voice and called out; “Someone’ll stay behind t’keep an eye on things. Just take it easy, okay?” 

Aaron didn’t acknowledge the offer but Eric made it a point to rise up and look at him. “Thank you, Daryl. Thank you so much!” 

It was clear he wasn’t talking about the offer of a guard and Daryl just responded with one of his subtle nods and ushered everyone outside, locking the door after them. When he heard his name being shouted, he looked around he saw Rick and his entourage coming up the street towards them. That caused him a pang of worry. As high strung as Aaron and Eric were at this point, he wouldn’t put it past them to start shooting out of the windows and he couldn’t really blame them if they tried it, either. 

Daryl inclined his head towards Morgan. “You wanna head ‘im off...?” The pair passed a look and it was clear who the hunter was talking about. 

“No problem.” He was already on his way over to his old friend. 

Daryl looked at the two ladies. “Ro’, I know yer needed t’help out Glenn and the others. Sasha, d’ya think you could spend an hour or two keepin an eye on this place?” 

Sasha nodded. She, along with Maggie, had been the first people of Rick’s group Aaron had made contact with. Although they hadn’t spoken much since, she genuinely liked the scout and his partner. “Are they in any danger?” 

“Naw, not anymore, but they’re not convinced of it. A little protection detail for tonight might help t’mellow ‘em out.” 

She pulled out the chair from the settee beside the door and sat down on it, making sure to have the rifle within easy reach. “I’ll be right here as long as you need me to stay.” 

“Thanks. I’ll be back in a bit,” he told her and headed over to join the group standing in the road. After a bit of small talk, he managed to herd them back up the road towards one of the two large homes that had been delegated to their group. 

After a quick change of clothes and something to eat, Daryl went to Michonne and got up to speed on events in Alexandria while he and Aaron had been out on their run. He could scarcely believe how badly things had deteriorated in their absence: Noah and Aiden were dead; Tara badly injured; Rick and Pete brawling in the street over a girl as if they were kids in elementary school; Rick going full Shane and threatening the townspeople with a gun (when Daryl heard how Rick had shoved Carl aside, his respect dropped another notch); the plan to evict him until Father Gabriel screwed up and left the gate open for walkers; Glen and Nicholas getting into a brawl; and the worst of all, Pete going crazy and killing Reg Monroe before being put down like Ol’ Yeller in front of everyone. 

“Christ, we weren’t gone fer two fuckin days,” Daryl grumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Sounds like you have a story to tell yourself,” Michonne said, inclining her head towards the living room where everyone who wasn’t injured had gathered together to meet Morgan and get briefed on recent events. 

“We’ll hear his first,” Daryl said, and the pair joined the rest of the group. 

It wasn’t a long explanation from Morgan’s end. In fact, from his perspective, the two grubby men didn’t even seem to pose a danger considering one of them had been brandishing a weapon that hadn’t even had any ammunition. 

It wasn’t until Daryl told them about the hacked apart bodies he and Aaron had found and the woman tied to the tree who had the “W” carved into her forehead. For most of them, that brought back what had happened at Noah’s gated community. They remembered the torsos that had been crammed into the cab of a truck that had become hood ornaments when their car had hit it. 

“The insides of them trailers at that canning place were lined with mattresses so we couldn’t hear ‘em. I pulled the trailer hitch up on one and that made all five of ‘em snap open. They were crammed fulla walkers with ‘W’s on their heads. Those body parts we found in the forest all cut t’ pieces? Those poor bastards were strung up on hooks in the trailers with jus their chest and heads left. There ain’t no sense t’ do somethin like that!” 

“It would to someone’s who’s batshit crazy,” Abraham muttered. 

“How did you guys get away from that?” Carl asked, bright-eyed and amazed. 

“Didn’t,” the hunter grumbled. “Managed to get into a compact car. Aaron found a note hidden between the seats. Said it was all part of the trap. We tried waitin it out but the walkers were gonna break through the windows. Just as we were about to make a go for the fence, Morgan came in swingin his stick.” 

“It’s a staff,” the man corrected. 

“Staff. Stick. Mop. Don’t matter none. It did the trick.” Daryl said absently. He looked at the group. “That place is less than fifty miles from here. I dunno if they’re the ones who went through Noah’s town or if they’re a different, y’know, _pack_ or somethin’. They’re bad news whoever they are.” 

Carol was quietly absorbing all of this in her new, strange way that she had. “Do you think they followed you back here?” 

“Don’t think so, but they might come knockin soon.” 

Rick looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “How come?” 

“A walker ripped off Aaron’s backpack. Had no choice but to leave it behind,” the hunter said in a low voice. He hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but now... 

At first, the others just looked at him blankly before Michonne released a dismayed cry. “His pictures!” 

“So what?” Abe said, adding a shrug. “They were crap anyway.” 

“No, they weren’t.” Rick said, his voice eerily calm. “After the reaction he got from us, he went and shot a whole other set. He made damned sure this one had people in them, too.” He looked over at his son. The scout had taken a picture of him and Carl together. Had that one been developed and included along with the rest? Probably. The irony of it might have struck Rick as almost satirical but he was far beyond such things now. Nowadays, it just meant there was another target on him and his family’s back. He suddenly turned and began walking for the door. 

“Where are you going?” Michonne asked sharply. 

“Over to Deanna’s. She needs to hear this.” 

Even Abe looked surprised. “What? _Now?”_ He had been tasked with wrapping the bodies of Reg and Pete in tarps and hauling them over to Alexandria’s make shift cemetery. The last time he’d seen Deanna, the woman had been sitting on the ground running her fingers through the tacky puddles of blood her husband had shed. 

“Yes, now.” Rick said. That thin veil of calm shattered and he looked back to the rest of his group in exasperation, his voice rising the longer he talked. “Don’t any of you get it? It’s the prison all over again! Those Wolves make the Woodbury bunch sound tame and I didn’t even think that was possible-“ 

Carl stepped forward. “Dad-“ 

“They sound as bad as Gareth’s group. You heard Daryl. They hack up survivors just for the thrill of it. So, _hell, yes!_ Deanna has to be told-“ 

“Dad!” Carl shouted. When his father finally paused in what was becoming a rant and looked at him, the youth said, “She just lost her husband. Aiden got killed a couple of days ago. Leave her alone.” 

Rick’s eyes widened, hardly believing that his own flesh and blood had turned on him. “Do you hear what you’re saying?” 

“Do you?” Daryl finally cut in. “A lot of shit went down tonight. Folks’re spooked. Some of our people’re hurt. You can’t jump out there yellin about threats like a crazy man.” He dropped his voice to a low growl and added deliberately: “Again.” 

As if he’d been physically slapped, Rick actually backed up a step when he looked at the man he had once called ‘brother’. The anger was clear on Daryl’s scruffy face, but there was more to it now. If pressed, the constable would have thought it was close to disgust. 

Morgan mercifully swept in and laid a gentle hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “Let everyone relax for the night. This can wait ‘til morning.” He said in that smooth voice of his. “You and me have some catching up to do. How about it?” 

Rick carefully surveyed the room. The guarded expressions on everyone’s faces reminded him of that dark period after Lori’s death when he had been half out of his mind hearing and chasing ghosts. They had been worried for him, obviously; but they had been scared of him, too. He swallowed and looked at Carl and was dismayed to see his son looking at him like that right now. He spared Morgan a silent nod and the pair wandered over to the kitchen, murmuring softly. 

Crisis averted, Daryl went over to where Carol was still seated. In a low voice, he told her, “I’m gonna go over to Aaron and Eric’s place. Sasha’s there now and she needs to hear ‘bout all this.” 

“You should stay and get some sleep first. You’re practically swaying on your feet.” 

He _was_ exhausted. Even at the best of times, he couldn’t manage more than a few hours of restless shut-eye. The last time he’d slept had been the day he and Aaron had set out for their run. Right now he was solely running on instinct and adrenaline and the reserves were just about depleted. 

Then he looked over to where Rick was listening to something Morgan was telling him. He could sense the anxiety radiating from the others in the cramped house. What bothered him most was Carol sitting there dressed in her housewife clothes that did nothing to conceal the cunning shine to her grey eyes: A wolf in sheep’s clothing if ever there was one. 

“I can wait til morning,” he chose to say. “I’ll catch up on my sleep then.” 

“So you’ll be coming back here?” 

 _Why? You my keeper now?_ He almost said out loud and offered her a vague shrug. “Maybe. It’s quieter over there. Might stick ‘round to see how Aaron is. Those assholes roughed him up pretty good.” 

“Speaking of them, what will we do?” 

“There’s still a third guy I need to track down. As for what to do with ‘em, I figure that’s Deanna’s call.” 

“Not Rick’s?” There was that scheming look on her face again. 

“No.” Daryl said, heading for the door. He didn’t say another word on the subject and let himself out of the house. Carol didn’t object but he could sense her silent disapproval even as he was walking down the road. 

Sasha was no longer sitting on the porch when he reached the gay couple’s house. The hunter knocked briefly on the door and added, “It’s jus me.” There was a pause and then the sound of the lock and deadbolt being released. He opened the door to see Sasha standing there with her gun slung over her shoulder. Eric was seated at the kitchen table, holding his crutches with one hand until he saw who it was and laid them back against the nearest chair. He favored the hunter a weary smile. “Welcome back.” 

“How’s Aaron doin’?” 

“How do you think? God, he’s such a lousy patient,” the redhead groused, dramatically rolling his eyes. “It took some doing, but I eventually managed to get him settled.” 

Daryl couldn’t imagine how, considering how agitated Aaron had been, but that was between them. He glanced over at Sasha, “I got things here. Carol’ll tell ya what we talked about.” 

“It’s bad isn’t it? I can tell by the look on your face.” 

He dipped his head a margin. “Let’s jus say your idea of being our look-out up in that tower is a good one. We’ll start arrangin shifts tomorrow.” 

Her almond-shaped eyes widened in surprise. “Is it as bad as the prison?” 

“Dunno yet. I can tell ya these assholes like to use walkers for their dirty work, though. They’re better at it, too.” 

Sasha was presently a woman who felt lost unless she was shooting at something and Daryl had just proposed potential targets in her future. A hard look crossed her face, but it wasn’t disappointment. “I have plenty of ammunition.” Was all she had to say of it and let herself out of the house. 

Daryl secured the door and then sat down at the kitchen table across from Eric. “What a lousy, miserable fucked-up day,” he grumbled, taking his face in his hands. He was unable to suppress a yawn. 

Eric observed him for a long moment, as if considering something, and then said: “You’re never going to make it an hour let alone the night. I’ll make you a coffee.” He hopped to his one good foot and began arranging the crutches beneath his arms. 

Daryl wasn’t in any mood to protest. “Aw Christ, yeah. As strong and as black as ya can make it.” 

“Coming right up.” The redhead was smiling as he went into the kitchen. 

Less than an hour later, Eric let himself out of the house and carefully crossed the road to the infirmary. He knocked on the door and waited a span of seconds for Rosita to unlock and open it. She immediately looked at the redhead in alarm. “I heard about Aaron. Is he alright?” 

All of the polite patience in Eric’s face was finally gone for the night. He looked pale and tired. “No,” he said bluntly. “I’ve used up our supply of bandages. Can I get some more?” 

She stepped aside and let him in. “No problem.” She was walking over to the supply cabinet. “How bad is he hurt?” 

“He has a concussion. Someone-“ He looked over in the corner where a familiar figure was sitting up on a cot. “Hit him on the back of the head with a wrench. Some bruised ribs from when they kicked him when he was down. His hands are a mess from fighting back. They almost killed him.” 

“I know. You don’t have to worry anymore, though. I’ve seen Rick and his group in action. They’ll deal with these bastards.” She came back with a handful of Band-Aids and gauze. 

“If they don’t, I’m sure someone will.” Eric said absently, examining what she gave him. “I could use a couple of gel packs. They’ll help to keep the swelling down.” 

“I don’t think I saw them in the cabinet.” 

“No. They’re probably upstairs in one of the storage lockers. That’s where Pete kept the extra supplies. Not sure where the keys to them are, though.” 

Rosita fished out a heavy keychain from her front pocket. “I figure one of these will most likely work. Abraham got them out of Pete’s pocket when he, uhm-“ She cleared her throat. “Well, moved the body. I’ll go up and see what I can find for you.” 

“Aaron’s asleep right now, so take your time. I’ll just wait here,” the redhead said, settling down into the nearest chair with a gratified sigh. He stretched his left leg out and idly scratched the area above the troublesome cast. 

Favoring him with a sad smile, Rosita left the room and went upstairs. The second Eric heard her foot treads on the second floor, he was back up on his crutches and moving quickly across the room where Blake was sitting on a cot. Daryl’s bolt had been pulled out of his right wrist and the arm was bandaged and in a sling. He was sitting with his back up against the wall, head drooping. His left arm was secured to the metal bed guard with duct tape to keep him from escaping. 

“Wake up, you miserable son of a bitch,” Eric said, poking his shoulder with no subtlety. 

Blake’s head jerked up and he squinted over at his visitor. Even drugged, his upper lip curled into a snarl. “Fugly ginger twink. What d’you fuckin want?” 

Eric’s eyes narrowed down into twin slits of pure contempt. “If Rick or Deanna have their way, you’re going to be killed or exiled.” He smoothly pulled Aaron’s .38 Special from his coat pocket and aimed it at him. “I’ve come to take those options off the table.” 

Blake’s eyes barely widened in recognition before Eric pulled the trigger.

 

* * *

 

To be continued  


	4. Old Ghosts

Rick was looking at the battered map Morgan had brought with him like he was staring at some ancient archaeological relic. It took him a while to even remember where it had come from in the first place. Abraham. The church. Left behind and forgotten one thousand miles south in their group’s journey (retreat?) to D.C. and here it was now; sitting on the coffee table like an old ghost. 

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He said for the second or third time. “To meet up like this. Here. Now.” He shook his head. 

Throughout their talk, Morgan’s calm, intelligent eyes tracked the younger man as he moved and talked; noting every subtle nuance of body movement and facial expression. Rick was about as taut as a spring about to snap. Morgan recognized the signs. The man in front of him now had once been his warped reflection six months ago: At the end of his rope and dangling helplessly over the abyss. “Wish I’d come sooner.” 

“I wish you had, too,” the Sherriff whispered. 

“What happened here?” 

“You saw it. You, Daryl and Aaron. I know- I know how it looked...” 

“It looked like you murdered a man.” Morgan kept his words steady; not accusing and without emotion one way or another. He was simply stating fact. 

“Things got out of hand. It wasn’t meant to go down that way. Pete, he- Jessie was-“ Rick abruptly sat down and folded his hands under his chin, staring at the window. “I don’t regret doing it. That’s how things are now. Nobody gets a second chance anymore.” 

Morgan sat down beside him. “So... what? It’s kill or be killed?” 

Rick didn’t answer and that spoke volumes. 

“You know that’s not right.” 

“I used to. Back when I was a cop and the world kind of made sense.” He fixed his piercing blue eyes on the other man. “Then the dead started walking. My wife died and ended up in the belly of a walker. I saw person after person get slaughtered for no damn good reason. A man in my group got his leg cut off and eaten by maniacs. My son almost got raped. I ripped a guy’s throat out with my bare teeth. I-“ He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he struggled with his words. He finally managed to rasp out, “You don’t come back from that.” 

“You can. If you want to. If you try hard enough. You can, Rick.” Morgan squeezed his shoulder for emphasis. “You saw me in King County. I did... terrible things to people. Whether they were good or bad, it didn’t matter. Everybody looked the same to me back then. But now, here I am. I can help you.” 

Rick studied him for along moment and then looked away, shaking his head. “Your way’s dangerous.” 

“How so?” 

“Earlier, you said you beat those two guys who called themselves Wolves. You left them alive. How do I know they’re not the ones who set that trap for Daryl and Aaron? You should’ve killed them when you had the chance. The old Morgan would have.” 

“I’m not like that any more.” 

Rick got to his feet. He had calmed down since his earlier rant about going to Deanna with his warnings, but that look of determination was back on his face. It made him look mean. Worst still, it made him look dangerous. “Then that makes you a liability.” 

Very carefully, Morgan rose to his feet and stared back at him in direct challenge. “What are you prepared to do about it?” 

Hot blood began to suffuse in the other man’s cheeks and his eyes lit up with indignant rage. Before he could utter a word there was a flurry of knocks at the front door. “We’re not done,” he said, walking over to answer it. “I’m glad you’re back, but we’re gonna have words. You hear me?” 

“Yes, I hear you.” Morgan responded evenly. 

Rick unlocked the door and Rosita was standing on the porch, breathing heavily from her sprint from the infirmary. “You have to come quick!” 

“Oh shit. Is it Glenn?” 

“He’s fine. It’s Eric.” She took a quick breath and managed to get out: “He shot Blake!”

 

* * *

 

 

“... Eric?” 

Aaron raised his head from the pillow and immediately gripped the side of his head where the bandage was stiff with dried blood, barely able to suppress a moan. Blake and his cronies had really rung his bell. He supposed he could be fortunate that they’d had shit aim and only managed a glancing blow with the large wrench they had with them. Direct contact would have cracked his skull open like a coconut. As it was, it put every single one of his past migraines (and hangovers) to shame. 

He swung his long legs around and sat up; one hand cradling his head, the other holding his right side. His bare torso displayed the clear marks of boot prints that were turning quickly to ugly bruises. He didn’t think he had any broken ribs, but one or two felt like they were definitely bruised. He didn’t need a mirror to know how the rest of him looked. He could only see out of his right eye and the left side of his jaw (the same side Rick had clocked him less than two weeks ago) felt swollen and heavy. 

The light by the bed was turned on low and he looked at one of his hands. The knuckles were bruised and swollen and the worst of the abrasions had been treated with iodine and bandaged. Before he had come out, his father had enrolled him in boxing classes (parents knew, oh yes. They might act oblivious but they always knew the truth about their children). He hadn’t really understood the necessity of it until the bullying in school started and he understood that kicking an ass or two was an effective way to get a bigot off his back. He ended up boxing for five years and got very good at it. He probably would have been able to get into a competitive circuit if he’d had a different mindset, but the truth was that he was a pacifist. Violence, in or outside of a ring, simply wasn’t in his nature unless it was in self-defense. When he graduated high school and went to college, he quit going to the gym. His coach had actually been more upset by his decision than his father. 

He gingerly clenched and unclenched his fist and managed a weak smile. “Thanks dad,” he whispered in gratitude. That training had helped save his life tonight. It hadn’t been a first time and, the way things were going, he doubted it would be the last. That grim knowledge was almost enough to bring on tears but he was strangely numb. 

“Eric!” He called out in a stronger voice. 

He got to his feet and staggered for a few steps before he caught his bearings. The ache in his head eclipsed his other injuries and he knew that he had a concussion. Not so bad that his vision was distorted and he couldn’t remember dates or events, but he knew he shouldn’t be out of bed. As ever, concern over his partner eclipsed any thoughts of his personal well-being. 

Slowly, he investigated each room before managing to negotiate his way down the stairs and limp into the living room. Right away, he noticed that Eric’s jacket was missing from the front door hook. “What the hell...?” According to the clock on the wall, it was almost ten o’clock. 

An odd sound rose from the velour sofa that almost made him slip and fall when he jerked backwards. It sounded like a cross between a chainsaw and a grizzly in heat. When he peered over the backrest, he saw Daryl was stretched out and snoring away. “Christ, you almost gave me a coronary,” he said. “Have you seen Eric? Daryl? Hey!” 

The only response was that the snoring got louder. Even with his limited vision, Aaron noticed the coffee mug on the end table and picked it up with a scowl. “And another victim succumbs to Eric’s oxycodone cappuccino,” he muttered under his breath, swirling the contents. Eric had given him the same concoction roughly an hour before and he _had_ drank it, knowing he’d never sleep otherwise. Unfortunately, a wave of nausea had hit and he’d vomited the contents into the toilet. It was a complete waste of good dope and he envied Daryl a little. He also knew the hunter desperately needed the rest. A lot of the behavior he noted in the older man was probably credited to sleep deprivation. Eric had done him a favor, certainly, but the redhead rarely did such things for other people without a motive. He had effectively put Daryl out of commission. Why? 

There was still a little left in the mug and he downed it in one gulp, hoping it would help push back the singing in his skull a little. He was getting the sinking suspicion that the hardships of the day weren’t finished yet. That was confirmed when he heard voices outside and moved over to the window, parting the blinds. 

His house was across the street from the infirmary and he saw that all of the lights were on in the house. There appeared to be a great deal of activity going on over there. When he spotted Rick trotting over with most of his entourage in tow, his one good eye narrowed in suspicion. It might have something to do with Glenn or Tara (and he desperately hoped that wasn’t the case), but that sixth sense of his: The one that kicked in when he was facing people. The one that had to make the split-second decision of whether to trust a person or fight them; it was yelling at him right now and it was using Eric’s voice. 

That got him moving in a hurry.

 

* * *

 

 

Standing near Blake’s cot, Rick took a look at all of the blood, to the .38 Special in his hand with the one empty shell and, finally, to the man sitting in his chair looking completely bored with the whole affair. “You should have let us handle this.” 

“I’m sorry, constable,” Eric said pleasantly enough, although his face looked drawn and tired. “I figured that Alexandria was under new rule and we could now take matters into our own hands. You set the example. Far be it for me not to emulate such greatness.” 

Honestly, Rick didn’t quite know how to deal with Eric’s passive-aggressive attitude. His interactions with both gay men were admittedly limited and it was clear that they were brighter than the majority of the Alexandrians he dealt with on a more regular basis. He was sorely out of practice for this type of confrontation. “Once I collected everyone involved in the assault, we would have talked about what to do with them. Together.” 

“Of the two of us, I know what the protocols here are.” Eric parried, not backing down an inch. “Exile and execution are off the table. We need all the able-bodied people we have. Even miserable bigots like him.” He made a vague gesture to where Blake was lying in his cot. The man was pale-faced and sweating and clearly in a great deal of pain. 

“Eric, you shot off his big toe!” 

The younger man shrugged. “So? Now he’ll just walk with a bit of a limp, that’s all.” Standing behind him, Abraham had to duck his chin to try and hide his amusement, but his huge shoulders betrayed him by shaking. 

“Should’ve gone after you,” Blake rasped while Rosita bandaged his foot. 

“You’re running out of serviceable body parts,” Eric snapped back. “I’d suggest you shut up before I shoot off your dick next, little fella.” 

Abe lost the struggle and burst out laughing. 

“There isn’t going to be any next time!” Rick shouted. 

“Tell _him_ that. He started this shit.” The redhead said with a sniff, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms. “I just came here to reinforce the point that we’re not two queers to mess with.” He leveled a glare over to the other assailant who had come in to be treated. One look at the restrained fury in that freckled face made Mark Winters drop his eyes to the floor in a hurry. 

Morgan let himself in to the building and walked over to Rick. “I tried knocking on the door. Neither Aaron or Daryl are answering.” There was a note of worry in his soft voice. 

“They’re sleeping.” An odd little smile passed across Eric’s face. “Don’t disturb them. They’ve  _both_ been through absolute hell today. In fact-“ He gathered his crutches and got to his feet. “I’ve got to get back home and check on them.” 

Rick grabbed his arm, but it was more to steady him as he got his crutches positioned than it was for restraint. With his broken ankle, it wouldn’t be much of a foot race if he tried to make a break for it. Eric tolerated the contact, but his dark brown eyes narrowed a fraction. 

“Hold on. We need to figure out what to do here first.” Rick insisted. 

“I live across the road. Blake isn’t going hiking anytime soon-“ He paused to hear the deliberate “Fuck you” come from the injured man and continued; “When you come to your decision drop by for a visit.” He spared Rick that odd smirk. “I’ll make coffee.” 

Color was beginning to rise on Rick’s weathered face. “I really don’t think you’re taking this seriously. What do I have to do to get through to you that this was a bad idea?” 

“Letting him go would probably be a good start,” remarked a deep voice by the door. 

Heads turned and everyone saw Aaron standing inside the doorway dressed in his usual hiking attire. He looked a wreck with his beaten-up face and bandaged hands. As if the image wasn’t bad enough, he had his machete tied to his left hip and had retrieved his rifle. It was slung over one shoulder and well within easy reach. The message was clear to everyone in the infirmary without him having to say one word. Particularly Rick, who had seen some warning signs from the normally composed scout in the past, knew that this was a bad omen. He slowly pulled his hand away from Eric’s arm. 

Oblivious of the tension, Eric immediately rounded on his boyfriend. “What the hell are you doing out of bed?!” 

Ignoring the question, Aaron kept his one good eye leveled on Rick even as he nodded to the door. “Get your gun, Eric. We’re leaving.” 

“Aaron-“ Rick started speaking and got a quick headshake in response. The redhead held his hand out and, reluctantly, the .38 was turned over to him. Talking about holding onto evidence or cautioning against vigilante violence now seemed ridiculous in light of events of the last 24 hours. He couldn’t fault Eric’s actions anymore than he could his own and every single person in the room knew that. 

Eric left the infirmary uttering a monotone of reprimands to Aaron who stood his ground until his partner was outside. He spared the room one last glance and left without a word. 

“That’s not good,” Rick muttered under his breath. 

“No, it is not.” Morgan responded. 

Rick looked at him and the black man calmly returned that inquisitive stare. He was aware that the others in the infirmary were staring at him warily, as if he was going to fly off the handle and chase after the couple. The loss of respect and the weakening of alliances was almost palatable. That blow-out with Pete yesterday in the middle of the street couldn’t have ruined his credibility more if he’d tried. To make things worse; Daryl, Morgan, and now Aaron appeared to distrust him. They had returned to Alexandria at the worst possible moment. Trying to soothe over the incident with Pete with a rational conversation was virtually impossible because it _hadn’t_ been a rational act and all of them knew that. 

Morgan took his shoulder in hand and gently squeezed it. He was witnessing the struggle taking place on Rick’s lean face. “It’ll be all right. We’ll fix this,” he assured. 

Rick lowered his head and simply nodded. He didn’t have a clue where to start but knew he had to try. 

 

* * *

 

The last thing Daryl remembered was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking some strong bitter-tasting coffee, and grumbling to Eric about what had happened at Del Arno. Now, opening his eyes, he saw it was light outside and that was just damned odd. He felt disorientated and out of sorts when he sat up and looked around in confusion. _When the hell had he lay down on the couch?_ Sitting on the coffee table beside him was a fresh muffin and a note. He picked up the slip of paper and squinted at the fancy handwriting. 

 _Good morning Sunshine!_ _I’m upstairs with Aaron. Aside from a bad headache and the bruises, I think he’s going to be ok. Thank you for staying the night._  

It was signed with Eric’s name (thankfully without the addition of any X’s or O’s) but had a cryptic little message added at the bottom. 

 _Hope you enjoyed your nap! ;)_  

Daryl looked at the empty mug beside the sofa and back to the paper. “That little fucker drugged me.” He brought his fist down on the muffin, squashing it flat. “Sonovabitch!” He came close to charging up the stairs to confront the man, but it was out of respect for Aaron that he didn’t. He left the house instead, standing on the porch and blinking at the sun that was already well above the horizon. 

“Sneaky lil shit,” Daryl groused, rubbing the kinks out of his neck. He was a man used to adrenaline-fueled catnaps. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d managed to sleep an entire night through. He wanted to stay angry but he actually felt pretty good. Another rarity. The incident with the wolf trap had faded to the background and that wasn’t a bad thing. 

He walked over to the infirmary to check in on Glenn. Carol was on duty, reading through more medical journals, and looked relieved to see him. “Where have you been?” 

Daryl tried to dismiss the question as concern but, considering how Carol was nowadays, he was no longer so sure anymore. That didn’t mean he would hold anything back from her, though. “Eric spiked my coffee. Spent the night in a coma on their friggin sofa.” He added, again, under his breath; “Sneaky lil shit.” 

Carol didn’t look particularly surprised. “Eric was a busy boy last night.” She nodded over to the corner where Blake was sleeping. Daryl knew about the injured wrist since he had been the one to shoot him with the crossbow, but seeing the bandaged foot elevated on a couple of pillows was a new sight. 

“What’d the hell happened?” 

“Eric shot off his big toe with Aaron’s .38.” 

“No shit?” That explained the drugged coffee. Eric knew damn well he wouldn’t have been to be able to slip out of the house with Daryl standing guard. Despite the circumstances (or maybe because of them) he betrayed a snort of amusement. “Man, pullin a stunt like that definitely gets ‘em admittance into our club.” 

Carol didn’t look as pleased with the situation. “He and Rick exchanged some words before Aaron showed up. I’m no longer so sure they want to be in our club anymore.” 

“Aaron came here?” 

“Yep. Armed to the teeth.” 

“Ah, shit.” That was bad news. If someone as easy-going as Aaron had a grudge against Rick, that didn’t bode well for the town’s attitude against the rest of them. “We gotta find some way to set things back to right in this place.” 

“There’s going to be a service at the cemetery for Reg in a few hours. All of us showing up will be a start,” Carol said. She looked at Glenn who had come around and was sitting up and talking with Maggie. Nicholas and Blake were relegated to the back of the room. “We’re not the only ones at fault here. I think Deanna’s starting to realize that. If she follows Rick and helps get the others in line, it should turn things around.” 

“Hold on. Rick’s in charge now?” 

“Well, not officially.” That vague smile was pulling up the corner of her lips. “But everyone knows who holds the power in this town.” 

Daryl scowled at her. “There’s some folks who might disagree with that.” 

“Who? Aaron? He’s not any-“ 

“Morgan wasn’t too happy with what he saw,” Daryl said. After a beat, he added, “Me neither.” 

That started a staring contest between the pair of them. Finally, Carol said in a thoughtful voice, “I knew something was up with you when you didn’t take the gun.” 

“Ya wanted me t’try an fit in. I like this place an I ain’t gonna let Rick run it into the ground like the Governor or Shane. Had enough of those two dicks t’ last me a lifetime.” 

Carol slowly closed the book she was reading. “What are you saying?” 

“Look, Rick’s my brother. We’re all family. But him comin in here actin all cocky like he was King Shit or sumthin wasn’t a real smart play. Not so sure your housewife routine is neither.” There. It was finally out and in the open. 

“I’m just operating under the radar.” 

“Yeah? An’ what happens if shit comes down an you have to break cover? Just shows you bein deceitful to the rest of the folks. That won’t help us none either.” 

Although her face remained calm, her grey eyes were as cold as stone. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” She swiveled her chair around and went back to her medical journal. 

Daryl stared down at her, chewing on his thumb like he always did when he gave in to nerves. It seemed that ever since Rick kicked her out of the group, she’d changed. Adapted. That unvoiced thing with whatever had happened to the girls, Lizzie and Mika, was probably a part of it, but not all. She was scarcely the woman he had saved last year in the prison and the change made his heart ache. As ever, he just couldn’t put the words together to communicate how he felt. 

He walked over to Glenn’s bed and was glad to see that the young man looked far better than he had last night. He favored the hunter with one of his genuine smiles. Beside him, Maggie was practically glowing with relief. “Hey.” Daryl lightly slapped his foot. “Welcome back, man. How you feelin?” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so sore in my life,” Glenn responded. His face was bruised and swollen from his fight with Nicholas. “Bullet wound was just a deep graze. If it had been a through-and-through or, even worse, got lodged in there it might have been a different story.” 

“Yep. Might’a been,” Daryl said neutrally. Of course, by now Glenn would have heard about what happened to Pete. 

There was a moment of awkward silence before Maggie looked between them and finally said in a low voice, “What are we going to do?” 

Daryl knew why she was almost whispering. He chanced a glance over his shoulder and saw that Carol seemed to be engrossed in some tome, but he wasn’t fooled. She might have changed personality-wise, but he could still read her body language. It was obvious she was listening. In his usual southern drawl, he cautioned; “Lessee how this all plays out first. Lotta things’re in motion right now; Like the shit that dick pulled.” He nodded to where Nicholas was sleeping. “Aaron bein attacked. Reg killed by Pete. Walkers in the town. Morgan’s bein here. Those fuckin wolves-“ He gave his head a shake. “Rick can still come out on top’a all this. We jus gotta support him.” 

There was a moment of hesitation as the couple exchanged a glance before Glenn said, “I believe you. It’s just... We _need_ this place.” He gripped Maggie’s hand. “I think this is our last chance to have something close to a real life again. I’m loyal to Rick, but if it comes down to choosing his way back out on the road or a life with Maggie? _A shot at a family?_ ” He raised her hand and kissed it. “It’s no contest.” 

“It won’t come down to that.” _He hoped._ Daryl didn’t want to consider the possibility of leaving Alexandria. He would follow Rick wherever he went, but it didn’t mean he would be happy about it. He got the sinking suspicion that the young man was right: This town was their last chance for a lot of reasons. “I won’t let it,” he added. 

There was a touch of finality to his voice, loud enough for Carol to hear. When the two met eyes, this time it was Daryl who dismissed her by looking away first.

 

* * *

 

 

The ceremony for Reginald Monroe, the beloved patriarch of the governing family of Alexandria, took place two hours later. Everyone who was mobile were in attendance for the solemn event. It was as if a discernible line had been drawn in the grass as the solemn residents of Alexandria grouped together on one side of the burial site and Rick and his group stood on the other. Some looks were exchanged between the rival factions, but no words were spoken out of respect for Deanna and Spencer, who stood with Father Gabriel beside a makeshift marker. 

Deanna, ashen-faced and trembling, now appeared as if she had aged a decade from her recent losses. Standing beside her with a supportive arm around his mother, Spencer looked like he was stuck in the grips of his greatest nightmare. Father Gabriel, the weakest member of Rick’s group, actually appeared rejuvenated for the first time since they had found him. He had a purpose again, a direction, and he resolved that –this time- he would not fail his flock. 

“I have a confession to make,” he told the collected group. “When we first came here, I was a lost soul. I was bereft of compassion, living in denial of what the world had turned into and I turned on the people who had saved my life. I was like Judas and I’m sorry.” He nodded his head solemnly to where Rick was standing. “My actions damaged reputations and harmed already damaged souls. I learned I wasn’t the only one suffering. All of us, without exception, are in pain for one reason or another. In coming together, we can all share that burden and heal. Let us bow our heads and pray. _Our Father-“_  

“One thing about the end of the world I haven’t missed.” Abraham muttered under his breath. “Goddamned church.” He received a hard jab into his left side from Rosita’s elbow. 

“During periods of extreme duress, it’s highly common for people of all ethnicities and beliefs to unite together in prayer.” Eugene deadpanned in his usual monotone. “Now, personally, I find it extremely hard to believe in a-“ He was a awarded a sharp stab from Rosita’s other elbow. 

“Men!” She huffed. 

Leaning ahead, Tara shared in a conspiring whisper: “That’s why I’m a lesbian.” 

 _“Quiet!”_ Rick hissed. He looked over his shoulder and flashed them a warning glare and then went back to paying respect to what Father Gabriel was saying. 

Standing off to the side, but close enough to be within earshot, Daryl more than shared Abe’s viewpoint. He might have been baptized at birth, but that didn’t mean he believed in God. The last time he’d attended a service, it had been when his mother, charred to a crisp from the house fire she’d started by smoking in bed, was put to rest. He’d been a boy at the time. Decades later, when his old man finally drunk himself to death, it had taken a month for him and Merle to learn about it. The brothers had long distanced themselves from the abusive bastard years before. Needless to say, neither shed a tear. 

Father Gabriel was finding his footing and getting on a roll as he extolled the virtues of Reg Monroe’s life as if he’d known the man all his life. The priest’s send-off for Beth had been far more reserved. The girl deserved better than that. 

Beth deserved to still be _alive_ , he brooded. 

Tearing his suddenly-burning eyes away from the gravesite, Daryl looked around. He was surprised to see that Aaron and Eric had shown up. Aaron was leaning against the wall, probably more for support than just a casual act, and Eric was propped up on his crutches close beside him. They were almost on the division line between the two factions, deliberately apart from members of their own community and Rick’s group. Their exclusion was clearly one of personal choice and, given the events of the last 24 hours, Daryl couldn’t find fault in it. He’d be pretty steamed if he’d been singled out by his own people, too. 

He walked over to them. “You look like shit,” he said with his usual warmth. “Should be home takin it easy.” 

Eric was about to add his usual two cent’s worth and Aaron cut him off by saying, “Unlike most of the people here, we knew Reg practically since the beginning. Eric and I helped him when the wall first started going up. He was a good man and I’m here to pay my respect.” He had a stubborn look on his bruised face that Daryl rarely ever saw. It took a moment for the hunter to realize that the other man was expecting some sort of confrontation and mentally preparing himself for it. Maybe it was even more than mental. He was wearing his anorak and a breeze pushed the right side back far enough to expose the holstered .38 that was attached to his belt. He caught Daryl’s shocked expression and zipped up the coat, coloring slightly. 

“Easy, man. Ain’t no one gonna jump you here. They wouldn’t fuckin _dare_.” 

“I’m scared, Daryl. I haven’t felt like this since I was in Africa cut off from my team and facing a gang of teenagers armed with AK-47s who couldn’t even speak English. I was certain they were going to kill me then just like Blake was going to do last night. If you hadn’t come along-“ 

“I did.” 

“But-“ 

“Naw, man, no buts ‘bout it. Yer breathin. That’s all that matters.” He glanced back at the service. From the looks of things, Gabriel showed no signs of slowing down yet. “Those kids in Africa. How’d you get outta that mess?” 

A glimpse of a smile appeared before Aaron winced and gently cradled his bruised jaw. “I sang my fool ass off.” 

Daryl had been just about expecting any answer except that one. “Come again?” 

Eric, unusually reserved, finally relaxed a little and said, “He used to do karaoke back in the days of the DC bar scene. He was really good at it, too. Had Bruce Springsteen and Mick Jagger and a bunch of other impressions down pat.” 

Aaron deadpanned, “I sure as hell never thought belting out ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ in the middle of bush country would save my life.” 

Daryl spoke before thinking. “I dunno. I bet channelin’ Freddie Mercury prob’ly came pretty natural to ya,” he said and betrayed a rare snort of amusement before he saw the astonished look on both men’s faces. “. . . Aw shit. I didn’t mean-“ 

“Yeah, you did,” Aaron said as a sigh. The brief moment of levity he’d displayed was replaced by a look of utter defeat. He spared Eric a nod. “Let’s go home. I’ve had enough.” 

 _“Gladly,”_ Eric said, sparing Daryl an exasperated glance behind his boyfriend’s back as they walked away from the service. 

“Guys-! I, ah fuck,” Daryl grumbled and reverted back to nervously chewing on his thumb. How could he explain to them that his joking around was about as rare as blizzards were in July? He was sorely out of practice and Aaron had been on the receiving end of it. Talk about a slap to the balls. 

In the background, Daryl swore he could hear Merle sniggering in amusement. For added kicks, it sounded like his father had joined in. 

Even worse, was Beth’s silent condemnation. It was almost as if she was standing close behind him staring at his back. His arms broke out in goose flesh and he betrayed a rare fearful glance to his surroundings. He was alone as expected, but it all felt wrong, somehow. It didn't help when a gust of wind brushed past, ghosting across the back of his neck like the lips of a corpse.


	5. Closure

It shuffled past the compact car that had the words “WOLVES NOT FAR” spray painted across the side. Grumbling in that nonsensical way that they had, the walker in the blood-stained red poncho drifted aimlessly past the chain link fence. Numbed senses registered movement nearby and when it started shuffling around, a bolt went cleanly through its left eye. It collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut and didn’t move. 

“So much for your Red Riding Hood,” Michonne whispered under her breath. She and Daryl were standing at the tree line just beyond the chain link fence behind the Del Arno canning factory that was locked up tight again. “I wonder why they killed him?”   

“Prob’ly cause we got away,” Daryl grumbled, lowering his crossbow. “Dunno for sure. Nothin they do makes much damn sense.” 

“According to Morgan, they seem to think they’re more wolf than man. It’s delusional and that makes them dangerous. As sick as it was, Gareth had an agenda. So did the governor. This group just wants to kill. You’re right. It makes no sense, but nothing does very much anymore.” 

“Nope.” 

“Like this run. Why are we _really_ here?” 

He trained his cautious squint over to her. “What d’ya mean? That poncho’d prick damn near got us killed. I wanted t’ find ‘im and learn what his deal is.” 

She took measure of his defensive posture with those intelligent eyes that she had and finally turned back to look at the lone walker. “I think it’s clear he was just a pawn. He wouldn’t have known anything.” 

“You dunno that. Least he could’ve told us how many there was. ‘Cordin to Morgan, they don’t have jack for fire power. Jus’ use knives and walkers to do their business.” 

“Maybe that’s a blessing in disguise.” 

“Yeah? Didn’t help Noah’s community none.” Daryl chewed on the inside of his cheek while he considered the trailers. From where they were watching the factory everything looked normal and quiet, but he knew how fast that could change. He’d found that out the hard way. “You figure the car in there’s got any juice left in the tank?” 

Michonne wasn’t sure if she liked the way Daryl was staring at the loading bay. “We didn’t bring a gas can to siphon it.” 

“Wasn’t thinkin of takin it with us.” He knelt down to pull a pair of bolt cutters from a knapsack he’d brought along and suddenly jumped to his feet before she could react. 

Less than an hour later, she rounded on him after they’d run a safe distance from the area. “That was stupid!” she said, looking back to watch the black smoke rise in the air. Daryl had charged the fence, cut the chain, and then gathered as much litter and brush he could find to place beneath the trailers. He punctured the car’s gas tank with his knife and doused the debris with the leaking fuel and then set it on fire. Five trailers full of walkers were currently roasting in their metal tombs. “This had nothing to do with finding that guy. You just wanted revenge.” 

“Mebbe,” was all the hunter would say of it as he pulled a crumpled cigarette from his inside coat pocket and lit it with relish, drawing deeply. “And maybe I didn’t want to watch another sucker get trapped. This should get them asshole’s attention. Now we wait for ‘em to come runnin. C’mon!” 

They headed for the safety of the woods and then hunkered down, watching the front gate of the factory. While they waited, Michonne gamely tried again. “You wanted to leave right after the funeral.” 

“Didn’t wanna give the poncho guy a chance t’ do a runner.” 

“Is that all?” He flashed her one of his warning glares but she continued on. “I saw you talking to Aaron and Eric. It didn’t look like you parted on good terms. In fact, Morgan told me that you two had been arguing ever since he found you.” 

“Gettin all chummy with Morgan, huh? Ya’d make a nice couple.” 

Refusing to go off-topic, Michonne just stared at him. Under that regard, it didn’t take long for Daryl to start fidgeting. “I gotta bad case of that foot in mouth thing goin on when I’m around Aaron,” he finally admitted. “Not used to, y’know, sensitive-type kinda fellas.” 

“Sensitive ... or gay?” 

He thought about it for a minute and decided not to answer. Maybe because it hit too close to its mark. What he said instead was: “When we was trapped in that car, I gave him an out. I was gonna lead the walkers away from the gate so he could get to safety. He wouldn’t go for it. Flat-out _refused_. It was either gonna be both of us go out the way of the Alamo or neither. Hell, there’s folks in our own group who wouldn’t’a done that.” 

Michonne thought of Father Gabriel and Eugene and had to nod in agreement. “So, what’s the problem?” 

“After Morgan came along, Aaron told me he’d been listenin in us while we were in Alexandria. He knew about me, Carol, and Rick’s plan to take it over if things went tit’s up. He went to Deanna about it. Gave her the head’s up.” 

Michonne hadn’t been pleased to learn about the supposed coup after Rick’s melt-down in the street with Peter Anderson. She’d especially been bothered by the way Carol was acting lately. Given the hunter’s closeness with her, she didn’t want to mention her misgivings in that area and stayed on track. “And that angered you.” 

“Damn right it did!” He hit the ground with a fist and then idly picked the pine needles off his hand. “I understand why he did it, though. He’s had to turn out riff-raff before and says he got grief for it, but I didn’t listen to him. Too pissed ‘bout it. An look what happened. His own people damn near killed him. Just for savin our lives.” 

“What happened wasn’t your fault, Daryl.” 

“Naw? Didn’t exactly make a good impression when we got there, did I? Hell, didn’t bathe for a week just outta spite. Acted like a porch dick anytime folks came 'round. When Aaron gave me the motorcycle I thought for sure it was cause he wanted me to leave. Cause I wouldn’t’a blamed im, ya get it? ‘Stead he offered me a friggin _job_.” He gave his head a bewildered shake at the memory of that exchange in the garage. In a softer tone, he told her, “He’s been bending over backwards for me an I jus keep screwin things up. At Reg's funeral when he was at his lowest, I put ‘im down.” 

“What'd you say?” 

“Doesn't matter. It's what I get for tryin to crack a joke. Ain’t no damn good at it. So ...  mebbe I figured I should come out here and get some info I could take back and, I dunno, make ‘im feel better or ... somethin.” He finished with a lame shrug. 

Michonne had to betray a small smile. “You saved his life, Daryl. You don’t have anything more to prove.” 

“Well, it feels like I do,” he muttered under his breath and that only further cemented her statement so she let it slide. 

Five minutes later, the compact car exploded and the shock-wave tripped the booby trap on the trailer latches. Lurching out of their super heated trailers, most of the undead were little more than walking wax sculptures that had run in the heat. The state of decay on most was so bad that the meat just sloughed off the bones. Not many were capable of walking anymore. Daryl watched the groaning, contorted mess with extreme satisfaction. There was a group that wouldn’t be getting at folks trapped inside vehicles anymore. 

“Oh lord, that stinks!” Michonne pulled her T-shirt up to cover the lower part of her face. The smoky air had taken on the stench of fly-blown meat roasting over a spit. Several of the more ambulatory walkers were blindly stumbling through the flames, setting their ragged clothing on fire and becoming charred torches. Some of the flaming walkers shambled up the ramp and started flailing against the barricaded doors, setting the boards on fire. In mere minutes, one of the doors caved and more spilled out, adding to the chaos. 

“That cannery was full of more of them.” Michonne realized. “If you or Aaron had managed to slip inside ...” 

“Would’a been worse than the car.” If that was possible. Another damned trap meant to lure the hungry and desperate to death’s door and all for what? To add another body to the stable? It confirmed his earlier observation; what these people were doing made no sense. 

Her fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket and he could hear the distant sound of dirt bikes. Quite a few of them. “There’s just two of us,” she said. “You found who you were looking for. You got your revenge. We can’t stay.” 

“The hell we can’t-“ Even as he said it, he barely rolled to the side in time before Michonne brought her sword up and around, cutting off the leg of a walker that had come up behind him. It wasn’t alone. The fire and explosion were drawing in remote walkers to the vicinity. Caught between a growing herd and the chain link fence, they would become trapped if they didn’t act quickly. 

“It’s time to go!” Michonne shouted at him, smoothly slicing off the top of the first walker she’d downed and then whirling around to practically slice in half another behind her. 

Rising to join her, Daryl spared one fleeting glance back at the factory where the so-called Wolves had stopped to observe what happened to their lair. Their bikes were covered in animal pelts and decorated with animal skulls. The men themselves looked little better: Filthy, disheveled, feral. A dirty blond in a jean jacket looked around and Daryl swore that the two of them locked eyes for a split second before he turned to his dark-haired companion. There were seven of them, all bearing scarred “W’s” above their eyebrows. None of them appeared to have guns but all of them had machetes, hunting knives, or hatchets; more than enough weapons against a lone crossbow and a samurai sword. 

“Fuck,” the hunter swore, hating to leave but knowing it was necessary. They were sitting ducks out here. Rushing through the growing undead throng, they made it back to his motorcycle and Michonne wasted no time straddling the seat behind him as they sped off back to Alexandria.

 

* * *

Rick was out at the construction site talking to Abraham about two of his new recruits. As punishment for their attack the night before, Mark Winters and Perry Barnes were taking the place of their ringleader, Blake Collins, who was too incapacitated to work. They were as sorry-looking in appearance as they were with their work ethic. 

“Y’know, when I complained I didn’t have enough bodies this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Abraham said gruffly, nodding at the pair of losers who couldn’t seem to figure out how to load the truck until Francine rounded on them and began barking orders. 

Rick offered an uncharacteristic shrug. “I gave ‘em the choice of hard labor or exile. Not surprising they took this option.” 

“Yeah, but Rick, they’re really shitty at it. I ain’t got time to play babysitter.” 

“You don’t have to. If they get hurt, that’s their problem,” the constable said. “Most of the people in this town are useless and last night they tried to take out the only one among them who seems to know what the hell he’s doing. To be honest, I could care less if they injure themselves. Serves ‘em right.” 

The burly redhead grunted in agreement. “Did you find out if those three douche bags were the only troublemakers?” 

“Seems like. Carol said she put out another fire. I’m not too sure what she meant by that, but I’ll take her at her word.” 

“She’s really taking this undercover thing to heart, ain’t she?” 

“Yes, she is,” Rick murmured and fell silent. He was no longer so sure it was a good thing anymore. She was treating it like an assignment worthy of an FBI sting operation and her entire personality appeared to have shifted and not for the better. Prior to her exile from the prison, she never would have talked so condescendingly to him before. Or ever considered calling him “Sunshine”. This new assertive nature was worrisome. “Anyway, Maggie’s going around to Aaron and Eric’s house today. She’s got a good rapport with them. Should help to put this whole mess to bed once and for all.” 

“That’s good to hear. We don’t need Eric taking any more pot shots at folks. Blake’s down to one good hand and foot now. And Perry-“ Abe nodded to one of the men who was leaning against the truck cradling his left side. “Aaron really cleaned his clock. They underestimated the pair of them.” 

“So did we,” Rick admitted, thinking of that confrontation in the barn and how he had acted. “I want them on our side. We need them. I hope I haven’t jeopardized that.” 

Abraham hadn’t been in the town the day Rick had his melt-down in the street, but he'd heard about it. He didn’t know the man very well, but from what he’d seen so far it was damned clear that Rick Grimes wasn’t a person to fuck around with. “Just need some time for things to settle down, that’s all,” he said in response. 

“Time...” Rick tried to smile but it was almost a lost cause these days. “We never seem to have enough of that.” 

Abraham lifted his face to the sun and closed his eyes for a few seconds. He took in a deep breath and let it out in a satisfied gust of air. “Just take it one day at a time. That seems to be working for me.” He made it a point not to add, _That, and the bottle of hooch I drink every night._  

“I’ll have to try that,” Rick said, checking his watch. “I need to get back. Morgan and I are taking Pete’s body out of Alexandria.” 

The mere reminder of Pete caused Abe to frown. Peter Anderson might have been an abusive prick, but he’d also been a skilled surgeon who had saved lives in the town. Abraham wouldn’t go up against Rick and tell him that throwing the body away like garbage was a mistake, but he _was_ troubled by it. Doing that just created another schism with the Alexandrians. It wouldn't get Rick any closer into Jesse Anderson's pants either, but that was none of Abe’s business. He had Rosita warming his sheets. "I understand you two have some catching up to do," he said neutrally, not knowing the full background of that odd partnership. 

Rick hung his head and nodded. "Last year, he was..." The words hung in the air for a moment and then changed. "His logic was shoot first and think later. Now, it's switched to the other way around for the two of us. Not too sure how to take that, to be honest." 

"You'll find some middle ground. You have to. This place is already at odds with itself. It'll tear itself to pieces if we don't do something soon." 

"I know," Rick said, parting with a grateful nod. He did a deliberate pass by Winters and Barnes, fixing them a hard glare on his way to Aaron's car. The two would-be bruisers dropped their eyes and scrambled to get to work. 

It was a start.

 

* * *

The bike ride back to the Safe Zone was uneventful with a minimum of chatter between Michonne and Daryl. Part of the reason was that choppy muffler that was almost deafening. The other was that the two were lost in their own thoughts. It wasn't until Spencer opened the gate to let them ride inside that she finally spoke up. "I'm not sure if what we did back there was a real smart move." 

Oddly enough, Daryl was coming around to start thinking she might be right. Falling for that Wolf trap had been a sore point with him and had been as close as he’d come to dying as his near-miss in Terminus. When he’d returned to Del Arno his rage had eclipsed rational thought. He’d wanted to make the Wolves pay for what they’d done. Not just to him and Aaron, but to countless others who’d fallen victim to their brutality. Angering them by setting the place on fire might have crossed the line. “We got these walls, ammo, and folks who can use ‘em. They ain’t no threat.” He wasn’t quite sure who he was trying to convince; him or her. 

“Rick’s going to have an aneurysm.” 

“Mebbe. If we tell him.” They were pulling up to the curb in front of one of the two Cape Cod homes they shared with the others. Michonne got off and stared at him when he cut the ignition. 

“’If’?” 

Daryl’s lips twitched and he squinted up at her from where he was seated on the bike. “Might be better if he don’t hear ‘bout that part is all I’m sayin. He’s wound up tight enough as it is.” 

“It’s not like you to keep secrets.” 

“Ah ain’t his fuckin pet! Ain’t Carol’s neither,” he snapped at her and then looked away, silently fuming. 

She blinked at him in shock at the sudden outburst. “Whoa. Where’d that come from?” 

“Never mind,” he grumbled, standing up and rubbing his lower back. “All anyone needs t’know is that they killed the guy in the red poncho. That shut down our only lead. Got it?” 

She wasn’t in agreement and was about to start protesting when Maggie stepped out of the house and walked down the stairs towards them. “You need to talk to Aaron,” she told Daryl directly. There was that familiar stubborn look on her face that filled him with instant dread. 

“Ah shit. What happened now?” 

“I was over there earlier telling him that Winters and Barnes were sent to work with Abraham’s construction crew as punishment. He wasn’t interested in hearing about it. He just started asking me questions. A lot of them.” 

Daryl frowned at her. “What about?” 

The lines above her eyebrows deepened before she spoke two words. 

Less than five minutes later, Daryl was at the front door of the gay couple’s house banging his fist on the door so hard it knocked down the “Sorry We’re Closed” sign that was hung beside it. “I know yer in there. _Open up!”_ He hollered. Several passerby looked around at him in surprise and then hurried on their way. All the people from Rick’s crew (with the exception of Carol) now had that effect on the placid residents of the small township. 

The blinds to the window on Daryl’s left parted and there was a glimpse of Eric’s shocked face before they dropped back in place. A few seconds after, the locks were undone and the redhead was cautiously opening the door. “What’s wrong? Has something-?” 

Daryl brushed past him and stalked into the house yelling, “Aaron! Get yer ass out here!” 

“Keep your voice down. He’s upstairs sleeping.” Eric hissed at him. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Do you know?” Daryl rounded on him. “Are you actually thinking about going through with this bullshit?” 

Understanding dawned in Eric’s dark brown eyes. “You’ve been talking to Maggie.” It didn’t come out as a guess. “It wasn’t my idea, okay? I was as blind-sided by it as you obviously are. But you know Aaron. He’s always thinking two moves ahead. This is his decision.” 

“And you’re jus’ blindly followin along?” 

“I go wherever he goes,” Eric said, his pale cheeks reddening a bit, whether in anger or shame the hunter wasn’t sure and cared even less. “Even if I don’t have to like it. That’s what committed couples do.” Under his breath, he added, “Not that _you’d_ understand that kind of relationship.” 

Eyes narrowing, the hunter cleared the distance until he was directly in the other man’s face. “You wanna repeat that?” He said in a dangerous tone. 

“Hnh. Perhaps you do,” Eric mused, not backing down. “Is it Carol you’re following around?” He exposed a rictus of a smile that contained absolutely no humor. “Or maybe it has something to do with Rick...” 

“You better watch yer fuckin mouth, Red.” 

“Or what? You take potshots with caveman slurs aimed at my man and you don’t think I’m won’t fire back with some of my own?” Without any warning, Eric suddenly started shouting into Daryl’s face. “Nobody is going to fuck with us anymore! Not Blake! Not Alexandria! _And especially_ _not_ _you!_ Got it? I’m beginning to think that Aaron’s right. Maybe it’s for the best if we-” 

“That’s enough!” A rough voice snapped from the direction of the staircase. Aaron had been woken up by the argument and was standing in the archway dressed in sleep pants and a hastily pulled-on robe that was still open. Seeing the dark bruises standing out in stark relief against the pale skin of his chest and stomach sobered Daryl a little. 

To Eric those marks were the equivalent of waving a red cape in front of a bull. He gestured at his boyfriend while glaring wildly at the hunter. His eyes were shining with barely restrained tears of indignation. “Look at him! Look at what our own people did to him! When will it all finally stop? When one of us is dead? _No more!”_  

“Eric.” Aaron’s voice had dropped to a bass purr that Daryl had never heard him use before. “You need to calm down.” 

His cheeks positively flaming, the redhead whirled on him. “I've had enough, Aaron! I'm not going to-“ 

“You’ve got a walking cast on now. Why don’t you go outside and use it?” 

The couple did a tense stare-down: Livid brown against patient blue. With a huff of breath, Eric turned and passed Daryl a warning look. “Don’t you dare-“ 

Aaron’s pitch dropped a note when he said again in a cautioning tone; “Eric.” 

Dipping his head a little, the other man limped over to the door, removed his coat from the hook and left the house slamming the door behind him. Aaron made it over to the kitchen table and sat down heavily in one of the chairs, taking his face in his hands. “Don’t think for one minute he’s not standing out there with his ear pressed against the door. Say your piece but keep your voice down. Besides, my head still hurts.” 

That little scene had calmed Daryl down a little. “Used to think you were the over-protective one of the pair. Now I see it’s a package deal kinda thing.” 

“It’s had to be.” Aaron took a deep breath and looked over at his recruiting partner. “I wanted to talk to you first thing this morning, but was told you’d left with Michonne.” 

“Went back to that factory.” 

The swelling in Aaron other eye had abated enough for both to widen in surprise. “What the hell for?” 

“Ah wanted to find that guy in the red poncho.” 

“Did you?” 

“Yeah, but not before those Wolves got to him first.” Daryl leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “They slit his throat and just left 'im to wander around the place. I put 'im down with a bolt.” After a pause, he added, “Then I set the place on fire.” 

The transition of expressions on Aaron’s face was almost comical. First, it was neutral as he processed that information, then it looked like he was about to smile as if thinking the other man was making a lame stab at humor, then completely dissolved into unmistakable horror. “...You set the place on fire? You mean those trailers? Are you serious?!” 

“Yep. None o’ those fuckers were doin the moon dance when they came outta ‘em, that’s for sure. What a mess. By the time the Wolves showed up, the factory was starting to burn, too.” 

Aaron crossed his arms on the table and laid his head down on them with a low moan. After a pause, he looked up again and said, “Well, thanks for that. It’s helped to make my decision much easier.” 

And _that_ brought Daryl right back around to why he’d come barging into this house in the first place. “So it’s true? All them questions with Maggie? You’re seriously thinking about leavin town and goin down to-to...” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. 

Aaron finished it for him. "Grady Memorial." 

Hearing those two words, the edges around Daryl's vision darkened and narrowed until Aaron's battered face looked like it was at the end of a long tunnel. Or a gun barrel. Or maybe even through a hole in someone's head. He wasn't even aware he had stopped breathing until he compulsively gasped in air and choked out, "Sonovabitch. You... No, you ain’t goin there. No way in _Hell!"_  

Aaron favored him with a rather mulish expression. "You’re going to try and stop us?" It was spoken more in curiosity than outright challenge but had the same effect. 

Blowing a blast of air out through his nose, Daryl pushed off from the wall and slowly advanced. Seeing the growing rage in the older man’s face, Aaron regarded him warily. "Not that place. I’m telling you, man, it’s no place you wanna be." 

"It's fortified. It has security. It's a hospital with-" 

 _"Not there!"_ Daryl hollered. "They keep the people they find as fuckin slaves. Ya get me? They rape some an they beat others an-and they- and then they-" His voice broke and he tried to rasp out, “Ah fuck, they...” 

"They killed Beth. I know." Aaron said softly. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Daryl.” 

It was the first time anyone, even including those in his own group, had expressed such sincere remorse to him personally. At a loss for words, Daryl looked at him _–really looked at him-_ and made the shocking realization that it wasn’t Aaron’s sexual orientation that had been bothering him but the man’s similarities with Beth Greene his subconscious must have been picking up. Both possessed the same optimistic outlook about people, shared the same enthusiasm to learn new things, both expressed their thoughts without deceit or preamble. Aaron even had Beth’s wide, expressive eyes. In another world, _a better world_ , the two could have been siblings for all the traits they shared. 

Making that connection in his mind at long last, all the air went out of Daryl as if he'd been sucker-punched. It was hearing those genuine words of comfort; words Beth would have spoken had she been here, that were the final blow. Daryl’s face crumpled and the strength went out of his legs and he sat down hard on the floor with his back against the table. He felt Aaron’s hand try to grab his shoulder and slapped it off. "We got her an Carol back an it should'a been over. We could'a walked right outta there. The deal was done." He drew in a ragged breath and pressed his fists to his eyes. "Fer some reason, givin up Noah to take her place pissed Beth off. She stabbed that bitch cop and the gun went off and the next thing I knew me an Rick were wearing her brains and she was dead on the floor. What the _fuck-?_ _Why the fuck did she go an do that for?!"_ He screamed in frustration. 

The hand was back on his shoulder but Daryl hardly felt it as he brought his knees up close to his chest and tried to curl into an invisible ball as he finally shed the tears that had been festering for weeks in the cellar of his aching soul. Eric came back into the house, alerted to the sound of shouting. There was some sort of non-verbal exchange between him and Aaron before the redhead crossed the room and wordlessly sat down on the floor across from the stricken hunter. The couple simply waited in silence until this long-suppressed explosion of grief finally played itself out. 

A few minutes later, Daryl snuffled back snot and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. When he self-consciously raised his swollen eyes, he saw that Eric was holding up a box of tissues and offering him a faint smile of encouragement. 

"Fuck", he grumbled, grabbing a handful and scrubbing his face with them. "Jus’ lost my street cred." 

"Don't be ridiculous," Aaron scoffed. 

“What happens in our home stays here. Alexandria’s pretty much made it that way for us,” Eric said sadly. 

“You don’t like it here much,” Daryl muttered. It explained why Aaron was always so eager to go out on runs. Most of it had to do with finding other survivors, but there was more to it than that. If he didn’t know the scout better, he’d say it was resentment. Considering the incident that had happened yesterday, nobody could really blame him for feeling that way, either. “I get it now. I saw why, but ya can’t- you just can’t go... _there_.” His voice went hoarse with the effort of bringing it up. 

Aaron frowned and looked away, lost in thought. 

“We had to wait until my foot healed anyway,” Eric said. “By then, things here will be better. You’ll see.” 

“Goddamn optimist.” Aaron flashed him a look with his one good eye but there was no malice to his words. 

“And with Morgan here, it might help t’ straighten Rick out a little,” Daryl added. It wounded him a little that Rick would seek guidance from the other man, but the pair had history. “All the rabble-rousers are outta play. There ain’t no need for you to bolt.” 

Aaron stared back at him for a moment and then betrayed a frustrated sigh. “Grady was the only logical destination I could come up with. Since it obviously upsets you so much I’ll scratch it off the list.” 

Daryl dipped his head and nodded a little. Under his breath, he murmured a sincere, “Thanks.” 

“We’re staying?” Eric asked brightly. 

“Yeah.” He still didn’t look happy at the prospect, not even when the redhead got up to give him an appreciative kiss on one unmarked cheek. Aaron’s head was still aching and every time he took too deep a breath, his right side flared in pain. He was in poor spirits and it showed. “Don’t thank me,” he said to Eric. “Things have changed in Alexandria and not for the better.” 

Daryl scowled at him. “How you mean?” 

“Don’t you see what’s happened here?” The other man said. “Deanna can’t exile your group any more than she can exile ours. That leaves two unwanted queers in a town that’s now split right down the middle. I really don’t want to spend my last days on this diseased world holed up in this house waiting for the next group of assholes to burn it down.” 

Eric crossed his arms and looked down the bridge of his nose at his boyfriend. His face bore the long-suffering look of a man who had heard such things before and recognized the reason. “Hon, go to bed. You’re tired and starting to ramble.” 

“I’m actually on board with ‘im over that one,” the hunter said, getting slowly to his feet. "You're part of our group now and we protect what's ours. You ain't got nothin to worry 'bout. Not no more. Go rest up." 

"Isn't that grand? We have ourselves a bodyguard," Eric said lightly, earning himself a reproachful glare from the hunter. "And such a handsome one at that." 

Daryl pointed a stern finger at him. "Don't push it, Red. Ah still owe you one fer spiking my drink last night." 

"Oh, you needed the sleep. Looked just like a little angel hugging that couch cushion-" 

"I swear t' God if you don't knock that shit off-" 

Aaron suddenly slapped a hand down on the table and used the support to ease himself back up onto his feet. "If you two plan on arguing, go do it outside," Was all he had to say of it and slowly made his way to the stairs intent on getting some more sleep. All of this nonsense bickering was making his head feel even worse. 

“I’m curious,” Eric commented and Aaron hesitated at the landing to look back at him. The redhead wasn’t paying attention to him. It was Daryl he was staring at. "It's certainly no business of mine but, were you and Beth... intimate?” 

Aaron had to admit that he was genuinely curious about what kind of relationship the hunter had with Maggie's sister. Daryl certainly seemed particularly grief-stricken over someone who had been just a casual friend. As usual, it wasn't Aaron's place to pry but chalk it up to Eric to put such a thought straight to words. 

Daryl glared back hard at Eric for having the audacity to ask that question. Then he remembered where he was and what had just happened: He'd just broken down and cried over her right there in the middle of their goddamned dining room floor. He chewed his thumbnail for a few seconds, thinking about his and Beth's last conversation before the shit hit the fan. He was going to settle down in that funeral home. With her. And the prospect of that had made him insanely happy for the first time in his entire life. 

“Ah never got the chance," he finally admitted after a very long pause. He dropped his eyes to the floor in shame. "Ah got cock blocked by a one-eyed dog an a gang of walkers." 

There was silence for a beat before Aaron threw his head back and bellowed out laughter. He gripped his wounded side and fell backwards on the stairs and doubled over, trying (unsuccessfully) to muffle his amusement behind his hands. 

Eric managed to maintain his composure. Barely. “Thank you for sharing that with us, Daryl,” he managed to choke out. 

“Assholes,” the hunter muttered heading for the front door in a huff. He threw it open and shouted back to Aaron, “We’re goin’ out on a run in three days whether yer healed up or not! So laugh it up now while you can, pretty boy.” He slammed the door shut behind him so hard it made the license plates on the wall shake. 

“Ah, our hero,” Eric mused fondly. “He has such a way with words. It’s almost poetry.” 

In the background, that just made the battered recruiter laugh even harder.

 

* * *

 The End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later on that day, Rick and Morgan return to Alexandria with news of the walkers in the quarry and the series spirals down into violence, bloodshed, and terrible loss. I wanted to end this story on a happy note because that's just too damned rare an occurrence in The Walking Dead world.


End file.
